


you promise me, my life

by beautifullights



Series: everyone has scars [10]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut and Hurt/Comfort, Captivity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enjoy!, F/F, Fasten your seatbelts folks, Gen, Hurt Poe Dameron, Hurt/Comfort, I have dedicated my soul to this fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Stormtrooper Rebellion, Suicidal Thoughts, This will be a wild ride, Trust, Whump, mental health care...in space!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:36:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6051894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullights/pseuds/beautifullights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe wakes to yet another skull-crushing headache, alone, slumped over in a corner of the cold cell. He doesn’t really hope for a rescue— at least, not in his rational mind. He’s starting to forget what real human faces look like. He’s forgetting a lot of things, honestly. What are they doing to him? What is he forgetting?</p><p>He is trapped in the belly of the sarlacc, but he’s not the one who’s dying.</p><p>///</p><p>“General Organa.” Finn looks her dead in the eye. “I have to go rescue him. He is my commander, my comrade, and my friend. To leave him in the hands of the First Order would be cruel and inhumane. Even if—” Finn gulps. “Even if he has actually turned, he deserves a fair trial and—and execution.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. remembering and forgetting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _alloquar, audiero numquam tua facta loquentem,_  
>        _numquam ego te, uita frater amabilior,_  
>  _aspiciam posthac? at certe semper amabo,_  
>        _semper maesta tua carmina morte canam,_
> 
> Never shall I speak to thee, never hear thee tell of thy life;  
>       never shall I see thee again, brother more beloved than life.  
> But surely I shall always love thee,  
>       always sing strains of mourning for thy death.  
> — Catullus 65

It is, of course, a trap. They find far fewer enemy fighters than expected, and no sign at all of the First Order supply ship they’d been sent to intercept before it lands on Pelagros. As soon as the last TIE fighter explodes in a bright supernova of spacedust, Poe directs his squadrons to return to the base. As usual, Red Squadron is the first to make the jump to hyperspace, followed closely by Blue Squadron, followed in turn by Poe. Both of his squadrons are therefore already in the commlink silence of hyperspace when the explosion echoes through mission control. “Black Leader? Black Leader!” Admiral Ackbar shouts. “Black Leader, do you copy?”

Silence. Far worse than the buzzing crackle of an open commlink when no one is speaking, worse still than the muted hum of a commlink whose owner is currently in hyperspace: the complete silence of a commlink that no longer exists. A horrified stillness spreads through the control center. “Poe,” Leia whispers. “No. Oh, no, _Poe._ ”

Red Squadron bursts through the atmosphere at that point. They settle in for a quick landing, touching down in a roar of exhaust with Blue Squadron on their heels. The pilots tumble out of their cockpits, shouting to each other. “What happened to Poe?” Jess yells to Snap over the din. “He didn’t respond when we got out of hyper. Is he here?”

“For the last time, I don’t know!” Snap shouts back. Face gray with tension, Finn echoes Snap’s answer when Pava asks him.

The ground officers are already out on the landing bay. The pilots converge on them in a rush, clamoring to know what had happened to Poe.

The officers’ faces tell them the answer.

“No,” Jess whispers. “What? How is that even possible? We got them all, the site was clear, there were no hostiles left!”

“They must have come out of hyper right as Blue went into it. He hadn’t even finished announcing his jump.” Ackbar looks around at their stricken faces. “I’m so sorry to bring you this news.”

“We will hold a memorial service at dawn.” Leia’s eyes are empty.

Finn falls to his knees on the tarmac.

  

 

Snap, now promoted to Commander Wexley, activates _Black One_ ’s trackers. He finds the ship at the bottom of a new crater on Pelagros. Crumpled doesn’t even begin to describe the cockpit— the back of the seat is flush with the tip of the nose. Heat has welded the layers together. If there was a body inside, it’s long since been cremated. The ejector seat is disabled; there would have been no chance of escape. The trackers on Poe’s dogtags emit a faint but clear signal from inside the cockpit. Snap hides his face in his hands, presses his forehead to the side of his friend's former ship, and allows himself one moment of keening grief.

It’s only by chance that he finds BB-8’s broken exterior, flung far from the crash site. Snap brings the droid back to the base on his lap. There’s not really room for the two of them in his cramped X-wing cockpit, but there’s no way he’s leaving Poe’s beloved astro behind.

They place the battered droid in front of Poe’s memorial. It’s possible that with some tinkering, someone could revive the unresponsive unit, but no one would dream of touching the little astro without Poe’s permission. And anyway, what would BB-8 be without Poe? Finn drapes its body with a ring of flowers. After the memorial service, he sits before Poe’s shrine and bows his head. His eyes burn. He cannot cry.

  

 

* * *

 

 

Poe wakes to yet another skull-crushing headache, alone, slumped over in a corner of the cold cell. He’s almost getting used to these. At least they mean that time has passed. And at least they’re not the result of Force-torture. And at least they mean that he is still alive.

He doesn’t really hope for a rescue— at least, not in his rational mind. Commander or no, he is still only one fighter. And they must think him dead. He still can’t believe the speed of those TIEs, coming out of hyper to blast him before he could make the jump. Carefully controlled blasts, aiming to disable but not destroy his ship, or its occupant. _Black One…_ He spares a moment of grief for his beloved ship, yet again. He can grieve for the ship. For BB-8.

He can’t grieve for Finn. Finn is alive, out there. Somewhere. He must be. Poe closes his eyes and dreams of Finn, warm hands, broad chest, laughing eyes. Dreams of Yavin, of _Black One_ , of cool dark space and gleaming stars, of a Resistance rescue, of getting his hands on a blaster and taking out as many Stormtroopers as he can on his way down in one last glorious firestorm of death.

What are they keeping him for? They haven’t even asked him any questions. Kylo is not here. It’s been a month— he thinks? He can’t really remember. He stopped trying to talk the Stormtrooper guards into freeing him or escaping with him after the third week. They do not even respond to him when he talks. It’s a good thing he practiced so long with the handcuffs. They barely even bother him now— compared to the rest of this nightmare, a single pair of shackles doesn’t even rate.

He paces. He thinks. He paces. He shouts. Nothing changes. This cell, this cell, four walls, dim lights, four guards, dark blast doors, excruciating headaches, locked shackles on his wrists, this cell. Helmets, armors, always helmets and armor and masks. He’s starting to forget what real human faces look like.

He’s forgetting a lot of things, honestly. He has no memory of ever shaving, showering, even _seeing_ a fresher, but his chin remains clean-shaven. He wakes up in strange positions with sore muscles, random bruises, unexpected blisters. For a week now it’s always been the same set of blisters on his fingers, slowly wearing down into a new pattern of calluses. But he can’t touch anything when he’s shackled in the cell. How did he get those blisters? What are they doing to him? What is he forgetting?

  

 

It’s another week later (he thinks) when he finally realizes it. He’s closed his eyes, pretending he’s back in the holosim, taking out his own record on the canyon run. He makes it in _Black One_ , no problem— ok, so it’s in his own head, but still, it ought to count for something— decides to switch to other ships to shake things up. Millennium Falcon— wow, does she handle well. A bit tricky to navigate without a copilot, but the flying’s nothing fancy, really, no need for shields on a simple reflex test like the canyon. A-wing, B-wing, Y-wing, landskiff, Lambda, Upsilon, TIE—

His fingers freeze on the imaginary controls.

Slowly he opens his eyes. Looks at the new calluses on his fingers.

And screams.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I've enjoyed writing it! While the plot mostly stands alone, it will make more sense if you've read the rest of the [series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/388042).
> 
> Comments and concrits make my day! Thanks so much for all the love you've given this series thus far.


	2. trapped in the belly of the sarlacc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Quod mihi fortuna casuque oppressus acerbo_  
>        _conscriptum hoc lacrimis mittis epistolium_  
>  _naufragum ut eiectum spumantibus aequoris undis_  
>        _subleuem et a mortis limine restituam_
> 
> That you, weighed down as you are by fortune and bitter chance,  
>       should send me this letter written with tears  
> that I may rescue a shipwrecked man cast up by the foaming waters of the sea,  
>       and restore him from the threshold of death  
> — Catullus 68
> 
> *** TW - suicide attempts/suicidal ideation

 

Grief is not kind to Finn. He sleeps outside, most nights, unable to face their empty bunk. He visits the room only in the dark hours of the night, when sleep evades him, to talk to Poe’s holo glimmering above the small shrine he built on their desk. He knows that he does not want to die, but he’s not quite sure what he’s living for now. Rey tries to talk him out of it, but her flickering blue holotransmission is no match for a warm hug. And even her warm hug would not be enough if he still has to live the rest of his life without a heartfelt kiss, a loving whisper, a mischievous smile, an encouraging shout. Dark hooded eyes, Finn’s hands in lush dark curls, Poe’s body on his, a _fuck_ that makes him see stars. Strong hands, muscles and scars, laughing eyes, love. _Poe._

 

 

Lieutenant Connix is shoving Finn away from the control room. “What— why— I got the message on my comm for an officers’ meeting at 1400 to view a new piece of intel. I’m sorry I’m a bit late, I was out on the training yards with the new recruits. We’re a little understaffed now, without Iolo—well. But I’m here now. Why aren’t you letting me in?” Finn shoulders past her and barges into mission control despite her urgent protests.

Poe’s speaking. For a moment Finn’s head swims with a rush of hot relief. _Poe._ But then he sees the other officers’ horrified expressions, recognizes the metallic buzz of a holocomm transmission. Finn frantically elbows his way to the front of the room.

“—that is why I am proud to have shot down Iolo Arana—” _What?_ Finn’s mouth drops open in disbelief. Frenzied shouting obscures the next sentence. “—destroyed twelve Resistance supply ships, exterminated nine Resistance outposts, and assassinated four New Republic Senators in exile. Thanks to my service to the noble and all-powerful First Order, the universe is now a safer place. I am proud to fly for the First Order. Stability, progress, and order will save our galaxy.” The transmission cuts off.

The room erupts into chaos. Finn’s stomach is clenching and reclenching, nauseated at the image of Poe’s familiar form, wearing black TIE-fighter pilot armor, spewing First Order propaganda.

“Why would he transmit a message like that?”

“Why would he have turned?”

“There must be an explanation. He must be playing at something.”

“Why didn’t you know he was still alive?” Finn grits the words through his teeth.

“I don’t have that kind of bond with him,” Leia answers, grim. “Neither does Rey, nor Luke. None of us had any idea.” She straightens, turns to face the head commtech. “Major Raiset. Report.”

“General Organa, our techs have run all of the relevant tests on the projection. It is an original transmission, not cobbled together from any old holotransmissions they may have gotten their hands on. And it is indeed Commander Dameron, not a look-alike, droid, or any synthetic creation. He speaks with the same timbre, inflections, ellison, and syncope as comparison transmissions in our database. His microexpressions indicate full conscious— and not Force-controlled— awareness, as well as true belief in the statements he presents. His pupil dilation and lack of visible sweat point against the use of drugs, although there may well be one we do not yet know about. In sum, it appears to be a genuine, willing transmission from the real Commander Dameron.”

When the Major Raiset finishes, the room erupts again. This time the tone is not one of shock or disbelief, but of fury.

“We trusted him!”

“How could he betray us?”

“ _He_ killed Iolo?”

“We knew the First Order had an incredible new pilot, but we never dreamed—”

“How could you have known?” Leia’s gravel voice cuts through the chaos. “How could any of us have known? There are thousands of good pilots in the galaxy. Any one of them could have become the First Order’s best pilot, with a bit more training and practice. There was no way to know.”

“But how could he have turned against us?” Major Ematt whispers.

“He didn’t.” Finn looks around the room in disbelief. “He wouldn’t have! You can’t possibly believe that he did.”

“Anyone can turn, Finn. Anyone.” The lines of Leia’s face cut slightly deeper with each new betrayal.

“Permission to view the transmission again, General,” Finn pleads, desperate. “There may be some detail that we missed.”

“The commtechs have already run all of the tests, Finn.” Leia presses her lips together, eyes hard.

“They don’t know him like I do. Please, General. If there’s any chance—” His throat is too tight to speak.

Leia sighs. “You have half an hour.” The room clears slowly, officers huddling together in small bunches to discuss the situation on their way out. Several cast Finn death glares. _That’s the ex-Stormtrooper who poisoned our son,_ their eyes say. Finn stares straight ahead, body fixed in parade rest.

He doesn’t understand the transmission on the twenty-seventh viewing any more than he did the first time. When his time is up, Finn manages to stand, leave the room, and walk dazedly to the nearest fresher, where he throws up everything he’s eaten in the last month. Kneeling on the cold fresher tiles, he leans his head on the toilet, numb. _Poe. Oh, Poe. What have they done to you?_

 

 

“He can’t have turned.” Finn’s sitting back-to-back with Jessika atop her ship, now painted as _Red One_. “You know he wouldn’t have turned. Not voluntarily. Shit, Pava, he—”

“—would shoot himself before turn against the Resistance, yes, Finn, I _know_.” Jess pulls her legs up to her chest, drops her head onto her knees. “All of us know that, even the ones who believe it right now. Poe’s the most loyal fighter we’ve got. But we can’t— there’s no way— look, we don’t even know where he is. And it— it was a convincing transmission, Finn. He admitted to killing Iolo—” Her voice cracks.

“We have to get him back, Jess.” Finn’s voice has a durasteel spine these days. It is rare to see him smile, and unheard of to see a smile reach his eyes. “We have to get him back,” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Jess sighs, to Finn's surprise. “Yeah, we do. But it’s going to be one hell of an uphill battle, convincing the General to let us go. And convincing anyone to come with us.”

“I’m in.” Snap’s voice rumbles from below, two ships over where he’s been working on the stabilizers on his ship, now painted _Black One_. “But I don’t know how we’ll find him.”

“The transmission was sent from Pelagros. Could be a good place to start.”

Finn shakes his head. “No, Pelagros is just a propaganda station. It transmits every First-Order-wide broadcast. But if I could take a look at the encryption notes, I might be able to figure it out. Each base has a particular code signature.”

“We know,” Snap brushes this off impatiently. “We track them. But they change too rapidly to be of any use.”

“No, I mean not just a code, a— style. A particular format, a motif. A language. I’m not sure how to explain it. The specific code changes, but the style remains the same. It’s not an exact science, and I don’t know all of the new bases, but I might be able to glean something, if they’ll let me see the original pre-decryption code.”

“Then why haven’t you done that yet?” Jess slides to the edge of the cockpit, dislodging Finn. She jumps to the ground. “Come on, lunkheads. We’ve got a renegade pilot to catch.”

 

 

The code signature is similar to that of three different bases. One is on a distant, uninhabited mining site— not likely. The second is a political center— possible, given that a primary purpose of the First Order’s government is to spread propaganda to the rest of the galaxy. But the third potential base is the star destroyer _Obsession_ , known for its extensive fleet of TIE-fighters.

Jackpot.

 

 

“I cannot allow you to go after him. We need all of you. This is a fool’s errand. We’re already down too many pilots.”

Finn stands tall. In Poe’s absence, both he and Jessika were promoted to captains, leading a squadron each. This gives him absolutely no license to disobey the General. He’s not terribly concerned about that right now.

“General Organa.” He looks her dead in the eye. “I have to go rescue him. He is my commander, my comrade, and my friend. To leave him in the hands of the First Order would be cruel and inhumane. Even if—” Finn gulps. “Even if he has actually turned, he deserves a fair trial and— and execution.”

“And I, for one, do not intend to lose another pilot to him.” Snap’s lost three already, more than any of the other squadron leaders.

“Poe’s saved my life more times than I can count. He saved _all_ of us at Starkiller. We owe him.” Jess stands tall.

“We owe Iolo.” Karé’s here for vengeance as much as for redemption, but they trust her to wait for justice at the hands of the Resistance’s court.

“And if you think I’m letting the two of you fly off into a dangerous mission without me, you’re more idiotic than I thought.” Heads turn towards the door as Rey sweeps in, Luke behind her.

“Rey!” Jess leaps over a console to greet her with a flying hug. Rey accepts with a grin, then steps forward to face Leia. “Luke felt your sorrow. And I felt Jess’ and Finn’s. We came back as fast as we could.”

Leia meets her brother’s eyes. Her mouth quirks upwards suddenly. “Like old times, isn’t it?”

Luke’s smile takes years off of his weatherbeaten face. “He’s lucky to have such friends.”

Leia looks at them. “I can’t have four squadron leaders on the same dangerous mission. Commander Wexley, you’re the most senior pilot now. I need your experience. I’m taking you off this mission. The rest of you—” She looks from face to face. “Bring him back,” she says at last. “And come back yourselves. Even if— no matter what has happened with him. Be sure that you all, at least, return.”

Finn, Jess, Karé, and Rey salute. “Yes, General.”

 

 

Finn trains the rescue team on how to walk, stand, and act like Stormtroopers until they are all stumbling with exhaustion. “It’s the details, Jess, it’s the details!” Finn snaps when she grouses about walking like a droid. “Rey can’t go Force-ordering everyone not to remember us. The fewer people who have any idea what’s wrong, the better. If you have to leave the ship, you’ll need to act the part.”

By the end of the day, he’s not satisfied, but they’re at least passable enough not to raise many eyebrows. As long as no one looks too closely, they’ll be ok. He hopes. And if not, there’s always blasters. So they spend one more day training with blasters haphazardly modified to feel and act more like Stormtrooper blasters, until they’re decent enough to make most of their targets. He can’t stand the thought of leaving Poe in the First Order’s clutches one more day— none of them can— so at 0500 the next day, the Millennium Falcon roars up and out of atmo, braced for action.

“May the Force be with you,” Leia whispers as they leave.

 

 

* * *

  

 

Poe refuses to eat. He tries to find something, anything, that can wrap around his neck or slice his wrists or stab his heart. Nothing. They move him to a padded cell, lock him up in a full set of restraints so he can’t even slam his body against the soft walls. He keeps waking up with deadly headaches, nauseous, unsure how much time has passed, wondering what he has done, unaware— The calluses grow rougher every day. They must force him to eat and drink when he is— _gone, killing his own people, he must be, oh Force_ —because although he is far thinner now (they keep tightening the restraints so he can’t slip out), he’s still alive. Despite his best efforts.

Even sleep is no longer an escape. When he closes his eyes, he’s behind the controls of a TIE-fighter, watching the terror in Finn’s eyes as he blasts Finn’s X-wing into oblivion. He’s bombing the Resistance base. He’s strafing his own squadron as they attack a First Order outpost, sending his friends plunging to the earth in one fireball after another.

He knows they're dreams, because they repeat from night to night, skipping across reason to present him all of his worst fears. Sometimes he shoots his mother down from the sky, burns up the long-gone Force-sensitive tree that used to grow beside his house, unleashes a proton torpedo on the long-gone Republic Senate, blast his own X-wing out of the sky over Starkiller.

_I’m killing them. I’m killing all of them._

He wants very much to be dead. They will not allow him the mercy.

 

 

Finally Poe loses it. He starts talking to the guards again, just to convince himself that he has not yet gone insane. But maybe he has, he’s pretty sure that he has, the guards aren’t even looking at him, he’s just talking to himself, and he can’t even stop.

He tells old stories from his childhood, tells Finn to move on without him, tells the General it was an honor to fly for her, tells his squadron he’ll always fly with them, even when he’s no longer here. Speeches and love notes give way to random babbling, anything and everything, describing his favorite Correlian brandy, coaching his childhood neighbor through climbing her first temple, trading jokes with BB-8 in the endless darkness of space.

And then he’s screaming, thrashing in the restraints. They reward him with a gag. _What’s next?_ he shouts at them, muffled by the cold steel. _You’ve got me restrained here hand and foot, gagged, why not a full metal suit, while you’re at it? How about a lightsaber up my ass? How about a blaster to my brain? Please, please, please._

He is trapped in the belly of the sarlacc, but he’s not the one who’s dying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I think I might have broken Poe. But I’ll put him back together again. I promise. (I told you to fasten your seatbelts!)
> 
> Comments and concrits feed my soul! I'd love to hear what you think. Love you all. <3


	3. this isn't real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _certe tute iubebas animam tradere…_   
>  _idem nunc retrahis te_
> 
> For truly you used to bid me trust my soul to you…  
>     you, who now draw back from me.  
> — Catullus 30
> 
> *** TW - references to past suicide attempts/suicidal ideation

Their first objective is to hijack a small First Order Upsilon shuttle on its way to the _Obsession_. A few well-placed blasts make easy work of the shuttle’s meager defenses, and they are boarding. Another few well-aimed shots take out all but one of the troopers on board without too much damage to their armor. Rey Force-orders the remaining trooper to give up their security clearance before sending him, too, floating out into space without his armor. Chewie disengages with one last roar of encouragement. The Millennium Falcon winks out into hyperspace, on its way back to the Resistance base. Finn, Jess, Rey, and Karé don the white plasteel armor and ready themselves for action.

Rey puts a hand on Finn’s wrist as he stares at the helmet. He looks up at her, nods.

It clicks into place with a venomous hiss.

 

 

With a Jedi in the lead, their path through the star destroyer is embarrassingly easy. They are admitted into the general’s control center. The general hands them the lock controls and tells them where the prisoner is. They are allowed to pass without security clearances. No one remembers having seen them.

“You could have done this by yourself, couldn’t you?” Finn whispers to Rey at last.

She turns to him as though he can see her expression through the helmet’s black screen. “And let you all miss the fun?” she whispers back. “Eyes front, trooper.”

 

 

Finn’s heart is thudding in his chest by the time they arrive at the holding cell. There are three sets of blast doors, each guarded by a set of four guards. Are they protecting Poe from a Resistance rescue mission, or ensuring that he cannot escape? With a little help from Rey’s white-armored hand, the guards accept their story and let them in without question.

The final blast door hisses open.

Poe’s gaunt, pale, limp. His eyes are closed, head back, body held up only by the restraints. At Finn and Rey’s entrance, he blinks, picks his head up, looks at them, eyes empty. Seeing only the new set of guards, he closes his eyes again, lets his head drop back against the restraint chair.

Fuck silence. Fuck surveillance droids. Finn can’t take it anymore. “Poe!” Poe’s head snaps up again, eyes wide. Finn’s fingers clack against the back of his helmet as he disengages it and throws it aside, skin bare in the cold blue light of the cell.

Poe lunges forward with a desperate, strangled, inarticulate cry. He pulls against the restraints, heedless of the way they cut into his skin, reaching for Finn. Finn’s at Poe’s side before he’s even aware of having moved, gripping Poe’s hand with white plasteel fingers, pressing a fierce, desperate kiss to his forehead. “Poe. Oh, Poe.” He fumbles with the lock controls in his beltpouch, applies them to the gag with shaking hands. Poe grimaces around the gag as Finn pulls it out, coughs, gasps for air. “This isn’t real. Finn. Tell me this isn’t real.”

“This is real, Poe.” Finn’s voice cracks as he bends to the restraints on Poe’s wrists. “We’re here. You’re free now. We’re getting you out of this place.” When the restraints crack open at last, Poe falls down off the chair, muscles weakened with disuse. Finn catches him, pulls him in tightly. Poe’s shuddering and shuddering against the cold armor, murmuring “Finn. Finn. You’re here, you came, you’re here—”

“Poe.” Finn kisses him roughly, possessively, protectively. Poe’s not the only one who’s afraid to wake up. “We’re going to get you out of here. But I have to put these on you first. Just for show.” Finn pulls out a pair of shock shackles.

Poe’s face slides into a pained half-grin. “We have to stop meeting like this, Finn.”

“Nerfherder.” Finn’s as gentle as he can, but Poe still flinches as the weight of the shackles presses into the raw skin on his wrists. Finn sets them as loose as he can— an easy task, now that Poe’s wrists have as much loose skin as flesh.

“Give me a blaster.” Poe’s voice is quiet, rough.

“Fuck! I’m sorry. I forgot. Brought it all the way here, too.” Finn pulls a short, narrow blaster pistol from his beltpouch, sticks into Poe’s waistband, and yanks the hem of his shirt down to cover the hilt.

Poe gives him a long look. “You brought that all the way here, for me, so I could be unobtrusively armed while we make our daring escape?”

Finn grins. “Yup.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” Finn leans his forehead against Poe’s. “Love you too.”

“Finn.” Poe’s voice scratches. “Finn, I— I think I’ve done some bad things.” His voice skips up an octave at the end. “I don’t—I don’t remember—”

“Shh, Poe. We have to go now.” Finn meets his eyes far too briefly, looks away far too soon. Poe’s stomach flips over, nauseous. Whatever it is he has done, Finn knows. Finn _knows._

“Done yet?” Rey’s standing ready by the door with her helmet still on, braced for intruders. Finn nods and retrieves his helmet. When he resets it over his head, covering his face with blank plasteel, Poe’s eyes flicker with unease. “Poe. Ready?” The words come out all wrong through the helmet’s voicebox, distorted and flat. His lover blinks. “It’s still me, Poe. You’re safe.” Finn takes him gently by the elbow, aims a blaster at his heart. “Safety’s on,” Finn murmurs.

“Oh, you really do care.”

Finn shoots him a look, but it doesn’t translate through the plasteel screen. He settles for an elbow jab. Poe snorts, then rests his head on Finn’s shoulder for a moment, silent.

“Rey. We’re ready.” She presses the button to open the first blast door and they make their careful way in reverse, back through the _Obsession_ ’s maze of corridors to the hangar. Poe’s hanging on to Finn’s elbow more than he’d like to admit, dizzy with the effort of walking. Finn can’t be gentle with him, out here where the other troopers can see them.

 

 

In the end it is not a Resistance pilot, but the ex-Stormtrooper, who gives away the game. A few steps into the hangar, Poe stumbles. Finn’s been careful to show no mercy, but he can’t let Poe fall to the ground, not now when he looks like cold durasteel floor might break him. Finn supports his elbow to keep him upright, moving with as much pretend violence as possible— but not enough.

That tiny little detail trips the sensors on a surveillance droid. Since the humiliating escape of a valuable prisoner, they’ve been programmed to be hypersensitive. A blaring alarm sounds, accompanied by flashing red warning lights that blind Finn for one panicked moment.

“Run!” Rey orders. Finn hauls Poe over his shoulder in one rapid move and sprints toward the ship. Rey’s a step in front of him, Force-shielding them from the sudden hailstorm of blaster bolts from the Stormtroopers guarding the hangar. One of them—maybe Jess, maybe Karé—opens the gangplank as they race toward it. Not fast enough. Finn throws Poe onto it before it’s even fully lowered, hauls himself up, turns around to give Rey a hand. She’s already hurtling past him, hitting the button to raise the gangplank again, collapsing on the floor. Collapsing? No, they need him at the guns _now_ , he has to go, he has to get them safely out of here—Finn sprints down the corridor to the gunner’s chair, feeling like he’s left his insides behind with the ones he loves.  

“Rey! _Fuck_.” There’s a smoking blaster wound in the back of her shoulder where a shot slipped in past her defenses. “Oh, _fuck_.” No time to be sick. Jess hauls Rey up as gently as possible, grabs Poe’s elbow in a deathgrip, drags both of them to the central room. She lays Rey down on a bunk, pushes Poe into one of the seats, unlocks one of the cuffs— and slips it around the metal topbar on the seat in front of him and locks it around his wrist again before he can even register what she has done. “I’m sorry, Poe. I’ll explain later. Right now, we’re leaving.” She won’t meet his eyes.

“ _Fuck_ , Pava, what—” Poe pulls wildly against the shackles as the recoil from Finn’s laser cannon rocks the ship.

Jess isn’t listening to him. “ _Shit_. We need to get out of here. I’ll come back, Rey, I have to go fly this thing, I’ll come back in a moment, you’ll be ok, I have to—” Jess dashes to the cockpit.

Poe stares after her, mouth open, gut-punched.

 

 

It’s mostly impossible to fly a two-pilot shuttle and control various useful things like deflector shields at the same time. Given the amount of fire they were taking, Karé had wisely opted to pay more attention to the shields than their flight path, leading to an interesting ride. Once Jess slides back into the co-pilot seat, the ship settles down noticeably. Between the two of them, the Upsilon cruises smoothly out of the hangar and into the wild depths of space. Keeping a wary eye on the heavy cannon fire coming towards them— deflected by Finn’s furious shooting— Jess punches in the coordinates for the Resistance Base.

Three— two— one— _stars._

 

 

Poe keeps Rey talking for as long she can to try to ward off shock. He thinks it worked— at least, he can see her back still moving up and down with each slow breath— but she’s slipped into unconsciousness now. The wound on her shoulder is still smoking, filling the cabin with the nauseating stench of burnt flesh. _Force, please let her be ok._  He closes his eyes and leans his head down against his wrists, braced against the chair he’s locked to. If this is a rescue, _why is he still locked up?_

 

 

The moment they slip into hyperspace, Jess sprints from the cockpit back to Rey, grabs the medkit, and kneels beside her. Finn races in from the gunner’s seat one step behind her. “What happened to her? Rey? Is she—”

“She’ll be ok, Finn.” Carefully Jess pulls the charred cloth back from the wound and touches the edges of the site. “Looks like it’s just a graze. Close range, so it burned a lot more than it normally would have. Once we get back to base, they’ll hook her up with the dermal regenerator, like they used on you.” Jess begins to apply a thick layer of bacta patches with steady hands. Finn joins her, eases Rey’s torso up from the bunk so Jess can wrap the wound in gauze. When she’s finished, they lift her between them, gently straighten her body, cover her with a sheet, slide a pillow under her head. Jess takes a seat on the bunk by Rey’s head and strokes a hand down her hair.

“Poe.” Karé’s joined them at last. Poe opens his mouth to thank her for coming on the rescue. She punches him in the face. His head snaps back, eyes watering with the impact.

“What the _hell_ , Karé?”

“That’s for Iolo.” Karé bites off the words.

“For—” Poe blinks, mouth open. For a moment his mind is entirely blank. “ _No._ ” He shakes his head, ears ringing. “No. No! What—fucking—no! That can’t—what—”

Karé’s arms are folded across her chest.

“Karé,” Poe pleads.

Her eyes—

“ _No!”_ Poe screams. “No.” He buries his head in his shoulder. “No, no, no _._  Please, no.  _Iolo!”_

When he looks back up at last, his eyes are rimmed with red. “Who else?” he asks, hoarse. “Karé. Who else?”

Karé raises steely brows, impassive. “You don’t know?”

Finn moves to stand between Karé and Poe. “Finn,” Poe whispers. “Who else? What have I—”

“How do you not even know?” Karé’s voice is shot through with durasteel.

“I don’t remember anything.” Poe swallows. “Just waking up in that banthafucking cell. Over and over and over again. Worst headache of my life, each time. I don’t remember anything else. Just walls and bars and restraints and shackles and _take them off,_ Finn, take them off take them off TAKE THEM OFF!—” He yanks savagely against the cuffs.

His rescuers exchange an uncomfortable look.

“Poe—” Finn starts.

“We’re under orders to keep you in custody.” Jess’ voice is gentle but firm.

“Keep me in— what? Finn, please—”

“I’m sorry, Poe.” Finn’s eyes are over-bright. “I’m so sorry. It’ll be over soon, you’ll be free, you’ll be ok—”

_“Who else?”_

Karé looks down at him, impassive. “Cut the mynock shit, Poe. You know kriffing well what you’ve done.”

“No, I _don’t_ remember, Karé,” Poe snarls, “I don’t remember _anything,_ I have _no idea_ what my body has been doing _without my consent_ for the past _six months_ , so fucking _tell me what else I’m responsible for!”_

“That’s bantha shit, Poe, fucking bantha shit! You were boasting loud and clear on that transmission—”

“It was a fake, Karé, isn’t that clear by now?” Finn snaps.

“What fake? What transmission? What’s going on?”

“We received a holotransmission from the First Order of you, Poe, dressed up like a TIE pilot.” Karé spits on the shuttle floor. “Boasting about all of your accomplishments for the First Order, your loyalty for them and pride in their cause—” Her lip curls in disgust.

Poe turns to Finn. His mouth works, trying to find words. “But that’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

“ _We_ know,” Jess interjects. “The others aren’t sure yet.”

“Karé—” Poe looks up at her, voice breaking. “You and Iolo are— were— my oldest friends. You _know_ I wouldn’t have—”

“But you did, Poe.” Karé looks down her nose at him with simmering rage. “You did. Maybe against your will, which is why I volunteered to pilot this thing. But also maybe not, which is why I am glad to have punched you. I might do it again before this ride is over.” Pain glitters brightly behind her eyes.

“Karé.” Finn’s voice carries a quiet authority. He sits by Poe’s side, looks at his face, wraps a careful arm around his back. Poe stares straight ahead, rigid.

“Who else?” Poe grinds out the words again.

“According to the transmission?” Karé bites off each one with brutal vengeance. “Twelve supply ships. Nine outposts. Four exiled New Republic Senators.”

His shoulders sag. It’s a few moments before he can breathe enough to be able to speak. “Who else?”

“Mili. Orulska. Nyievit. Rimen.” Karé spits each name at him with savage anger.

Poe stares up at her, eyes wild. “ _No!_ ”

Karé stares back, impassive.

Poe’s head falls into his arms, broken. “My recruits,” he rasps. His sleeves muffle his shuddering breaths.“My recruits.” At last he picks his head up. The shuttle’s cold lights glimmer on his tears. “Who else?” Poe’s voice is dead.

“That’s it,” Karé regards him cooly. “According to the transmission.”

“Which is clearly just a banthafucked fake-out from the banthafucking First Order.” Finn’s hand is warm on Poe’s back. “You wouldn’t have done that, Poe. Any of it. I know you, we all know you. You wouldn’t have done it. If you were loyal to the First Order, they wouldn’t have locked you up like that. Don’t worry about it. The trial will sort everything out, and then we’ll be able to take the cuffs off.”

Right. A trial. Poe looks down at his wrists, huffs out a bitter laugh. For the second time in two years, on trial for treason to the Resistance. Finn rubs his back in small circles, a familiar gesture that only hurts him further.

“Look, Poe,” Jess starts, voice gentle. “Everything the transmission said had actually happened. And where there were survivors, their reports described incredible piloting maneuvers, some in such detail— it looked like you, Poe. We know how you fly.” Her voice hitches. “The treason, the boasting— that I’ll never believe. Ever. I don’t think you would have done _any_ of it under your own free will. But the fact is—” Poe never wants to see that look in her eyes again. “The fact is that it happened. And there’s a lot of evidence that it must have been you.”

Poe closes his eyes and breathes, breathes, breathes.

“I wanted to die,” he whispers at last, and once the words are out he can’t stop more from following, tumbling out without his control. “I don’t remember anything. Just the cell. The guards. Walls. Shackles. I was waiting. Just waiting. But I kept waking up with these headaches. My muscles would be sore. No reason. My hands, weird blisters. Became calluses. I couldn’t figure out why. From what. I played the holosim, in my mind, just to stay sane, do something, escape, and I tried the TIE fighter version, remembered how the controls felt in my hands, and I realized—”

Poe can’t continue. Finn’s face is grim. Poe swallows, rough. It’s a moment before he can speak again.

“I wanted to die. I tried to. The thought that I was— murdering—” Poe mouth opens, sucking for air. “I tried everything I could think of. That’s when they locked me in the full-body re—” He shudders. “There was nothing I could do. Nothing I could do. I was trapped. I couldn’t—I—I murdered— _oh, Iolo_ —” His whole body is shaking. Finn presses against him tighter, but Poe’s crumbling, dissolving, collapsing onto himself. He wrests away from Finn and cries.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh heh heh. Poe's rescued, right? Everything's perfect now, right?
> 
> YOU GUESSED WRONG. 
> 
> Come scream at me in the comments.


	4. fuck control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _frons exspirantis praeportat pectoris iras,_  
>        _huc huc aduentate, meas audite querellas,_  
>  _quas ego, uae misera, extremis proferre medullis_  
>        _cogor inops, ardens, amenti caeca furore._  
>  _quae quoniam uerae nascuntur pectore ab imo,_  
>        _uos nolite pati nostrum uanescere luctum,_
> 
> announce the wrath which breathes from your breast,  
>       hither, haste, hear my complaints  
> which I, wretched, am forced to bring forth from my innermost marrow  
>       perforce, helpless, burning, blinded with raging frenzy.  
> For since my woes come truthfully from the depths of my heart,  
>       do not allow my lament to vanish.  
> — Catullus 64

 

Rey wakes with a grunt of pain just as they’re about to exit hyperspace. Jess presses a swift kiss to her forehead before sprinting to the cockpit, cursing all the way. As no gunners are needed for the descent to the Base, Finn takes Jess’ place beside Rey, holding her hand and asking her soft questions. His eyes dart up to Poe’s, back down. Poe stares across the shuttle with haunted eyes.

The Upsilon settles smoothly onto the base. Jess runs back to the bunk, eases Rey up, slings an arm under her good shoulder, and helps her out of the ship to the waiting medics. Karé follows them without a backward glance.

Finn approaches Poe slowly. He unlocks one of the cuffs, slides it out of the chair’s metal back, helps Poe stand, and—with a murmur of apology—locks the cuff back onto his wrist. He tugs Poe towards the entrance, but Poe resists.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Poe asks, quiet. He must look as horrible as he feels, because Finn keeps wincing every time his eyes catch on Poe.

“I don’t know, Poe,” Finn answers, equally soft. “There’ll be a trial. We’ll all speak for you, me and Jess and Rey and Snap and—I _think—_ Karé. She’s angry, and grieving, but she’s known you longer than any of us. They’ll look at the evidence, see if you’re telling the truth. But whatever happens, Poe,” he continues fiercely, wrapping Poe into a tight hug, “we’ll all be there with you, ok? We believe in you. _I_ believe in you. We’ll come out of this. Whatever happens, Poe,” Finn whispers, voice choked, “you’re alive. You’re back. You’re going to be ok. Oh, Poe,” and he’s crying now, face tucked tight into the sharp bones of Poe’s shoulder, “You were dead, you were dead, we held a memorial, I thought I’d never—”

He can’t speak. Poe jerks away for just a moment so he can throw his wrists up and over Finn’s back, press tightly against him, grip him with all his strength. “You don’t still want to die, do you?” Finn asks at last, almost too quiet for Poe to hear.

“What? No. No!” Poe shakes his head, vehement. “Now that I’ve finally got you back? Are you _crazy,_ Finn, no!”

“Ok, ok! Good. That’s good. I was just— I was just scared.”

Poe’s brain turns that over for a moment, slow to connect. He leans back abruptly, looks into Finn’s face. “Do you want your blaster back?”

Finn shakes his head. “I trust you, Poe. Do you still want to be armed?”

“They wouldn’t—Finn, this is the Resistance. We don’t do that here.” But Poe’s voice is shaking, just a little. _They wouldn’t, would they? No. Of course not._

“I know that, Poe.” Finn’s gaze is still sharp on his. “I asked if you still wanted to be armed.”

Six months. Did he really survive six months without those eyes? Poe could stand here, slowly falling into them, all day. “I really do love you.”

“I know, Poe. I know.” Finn cups the back of Poe’s head, lets him rest his head on Finn’s strong shoulder. “I love you too.” He pauses. “Just— don’t do anything stupid, ok?”

Poe laughs softly. It hurts his throat. “I won’t, Finn,” he rasps. “I won’t.” He leans against Finn, taking courage in his lover’s warm strength. They stay there for a long time, holding each other up, listening to each other breathe.

 

 

“Come on.” Karé’s ducks her head back into the shuttle. “Time to face the firing squad.” Poe jolts away from Finn, heart pounding. “Joke! Laserbrain.” Karé disappears again.

Poe lifts his wrists back over Finn’s head to untangle their bodies, straightens his back, and squares his shoulders. Finn looks him in the eyes. Poe nods. Finn moves to take Poe’s elbow yet again—shakes his head, takes Poe’s shackled hand instead, and walks with him out onto the landing bay.

The moment they step out from under the Upsilon’s overhang into the strong afternoon sunshine, Poe stops short. He closes his eyes, tips his head back, feels the warm rays sink deep into his skin, drinks in the sunlight with long, shaky, breaths. Six months in the bowels of that ship. Poe doesn’t care who sees him like this, desperate for sunshine like a mole creature emerging from a cave. Bright rays. Warm light. Alive.

The duracrete is roughly textured beneath his feet. The air smells like living things, like safety, like home. If not for Finn’s hand in his, Poe thinks he might have simply sunk to his knees right there on the landing bay and stayed there until his mind began to piece itself back together again.

Finn stops beside him, overwhelmed by the naked relief in Poe’s beloved features. The ordeal is written even bolder on his face in the sunlight than in the artificial lighting of the ship—bruises and pallor and stark cheekbones, brackets of pain framing his mouth, hair newly scattered with grey. But it’s still Poe. It’ll always still be _Poe._ And he’s alive, he’s alive and free—Finn squeezes his lover’s hand. Poe blinks, lowers his head, and looks at him. “This isn’t real, Finn,” he whispers, so quiet Finn can barely hear. “This isn’t real.”

“This _is_ real, Poe.” Finn presses Poe’s fingers tightly in his. “You’re not dreaming. You’re back. You’re safe. It’s ok now.”

Poe nods, eyes lost and fiery at the same time, missiles without trackers. One corner of his lips pulls up. “We’re home, right?”

Finn presses a kiss to his cheek. “Yup.”

Poe nods again, less lost, more fiery. “Good.” He takes a deep breath, straightens his body into parade rest, and turns to face the welcoming committee.

Or committee, at least, most of whom bear expressions that hover somewhere between _turncoat_ and _glad you’re back_ and _how could you, Poe, how_ _could you._ Poe ignores them all, focuses on the General’s familiar face. Her eyes look him up and down, tight with aching sympathy. “Poe,” she greets him, voice gravelly as ever. “Welcome home.”

“General—” Poe’s voice cracks despite his efforts to keep it steady. “Iolo. My recruits. Is it true?”

Leia’s lips press into a thin line. She nods. Poe’s breath huffs short in grief, winded. He has no words. He will not apologize for something he did not choose to do, would never have chosen. But their deaths are written on his hands all the same. _Oh, my comrades,_ _my friends—_

Leia clears her throat. “Poe. The trial won’t take place today—we’ll need Rey’s testimony. She’s going to be ok, but she’s in the medbay now and she’ll be sedated the rest of the day against the pain. Assuming she’s up for it by tomorrow morning, the trial will begin at 0800. Until then, go to the medbay. Let the doctors look at you. Rest.”

Poe nods, locks his knees so they can’t tremble. He shouldn’t ask, he won’t ask, he can’t ask, he has to ask— “The cuffs— General, please.” The bones of Finn’s hand grind against each other in Poe’s crushing grip.

Leia’s eyes flicker with guilt. “Captain Finn.” Poe gives a small start at the title—when did Finn get promoted? Deserves it, no question, but—but maybe that’s not a question he really wants to ask, come to think of it. “Take Poe to the lockdown room in the medbay. You may remove his cuffs while he is inside the room.”

Finn nods, salutes. Another cell. Four fucking walls. But no cuffs. And no bars. “Thank you.” Poe doesn’t bother to be embarrassed at the desperate gratitude in his voice. The General nods.

Finn walks Poe towards the medbay, wading through the crowd of Resistance fighters. Poe’s almost knocked over by the force of Snap’s bear hug. “Good to have you back, kid. They wouldn’t let me on the strike team. Irreplaceable skills, you know the drill. Glad to see these lunkheads are good for something, after all.” He joshes Finn with an easy grin.

Poe’s grin is weak, but genuine. “Thank you, Snap. They did ok, I think.”

“Hey! More than ok! We got you out of that sarlacc pit right on time, as planned, no casualties, one non-permanent injury!”

“Job well done, Captain Finn.” Snap extends a solemn hand to shake. “Once this whole rigamarole is over, there’ll be some intoxicants in the pilot’s lounge for all. I expect to see you both there.”

Finn shakes his hand with as much gravitas as Snap. “If it’s Akivan moonshine again, I may have to bring my own juice from the caf.”

“Coward.” Snap elbows him and nods to Poe. “Good to have you back. Now get your skinny ass to the medbay before you fall over. That’s an order, Captain.”

“Sir yes sir!” Finn salutes, laughing, and pulls Poe along towards the doors.

Poe’s still not quite sure how to laugh.

 

 

Once they’re finally inside, Poe stops and pulls at Finn’s hands, tugs him towards the hall leading to the memorial room. “I have to say goodbye to them.”

“Right now?”

Finn can’t argue with the look in Poe’s eyes.

The hall winds to a lower level of the base, a cavernous room with insets carved into the walls at regular intervals. Some are still empty, but most hold a small light, a holo, a few objects, and a small datapad. On his way to Iolo’s votive, Poe stumbles at the sight of a familiar shape—

“BB-8!” His voice cracks. He falls to his knees before the crushed droid. “How did—you found him? Where was he? How is—is he—”

“Snap found him near your crashed ship. I don’t know if he’ll be able to function again. No one wanted to try to fix him without you.”

Poe leans his forehead to rest on BB-8’s dented hull. He’s quiet for a long moment. At last he picks his head up. “I’m going to fix him,” Poe growls. “As soon as this fucking trial is over. I’m going to fix him.”

“Sure, Poe.” Finn is not even going to consider the possibility that BB-8 might not be fixable.

Rising to one’s feet with cuffed hands takes far more agility than he’s got right now. Finn pulls Poe up with a strong hand on his elbow. Once vertical, Poe’s head swims for a moment.

It’s a moment before his eyes clear again. When they do— Poe’s heart stutters at the sight of a holo of his own face. Dazed, he draws closer and stares at the shrine above BB-8. The blue lines float above a small pile of objects: a rock from one of the Massassi temples on Yavin, a socket wrench, a replica of the badge on his flight suit, a flower.

A blinking message on the datapad, signed _Snap_ , reads: _I CAN SEE YOU._ Poe suddenly notices the tiny holocam nestled inside the flower.

“There was graffiti here?”

Finn looks at him, eyes level. “Yeah.”

“And worse.”

“Yeah.”

Poe swallows. “He’s a good man, Snap.”

“Yeah. He is.”

They move on.

 

 

Poe’s hands shake in the cuffs as he logs a note for Iolo on the datapad in his shrine. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he possibly say— _Sorry that I murdered you?_

 

 

 _I would have died for you_ , Poe writes at last. _Gladly. I will remember you, Iolo, always. May the Force be with you._

_They will pay for what they’ve done._

 

 

Poe leaves notes at the small memorials for the four recruits as well. After the last, he has to pause, hands braced against the wall, shoulders shaking. Finn waits for him. Many breaths later, Poe picks his head up again and follows Finn to the medbay. His fingers close tightly around Finn’s.

 

 

The lockdown room is a small, padded square with a thick door. Poe sits on the cot, eyes flicking away from the restraint straps currently tucked out of the way beneath it. Once the door is closed, Finn unlocks the cuffs. Poe can’t stop the low whimper of relief that slips out upon feeling his wrists free, at last, for the first time in six months. He spreads his arms apart, cautious, not really sure anymore how to move his body.

A security guard pops in, inspects Poe’s body for hidden weapons, and confiscates the little blaster. Once it’s gone, the walls loom a little closer over Poe. He really is a prisoner again. He stares at his hands. Tries to breathe. Finn takes his hand. Poe stares at the places where their fingers join. He can’t quite figure out how to close his hand over Finn’s.

Dr. Kalonia smiles at him as she enters. “It’s good to have you back, Poe. Are you injured anywhere? Is there anything in particular you’d like me to take a look at?”

Poe shakes his head.

“Would you like Finn to stay for this, or would you prefer he leaves?”

Poe hasn’t seen his body in months, but he can feel it. He knows it’s not the one he left with.

“Leave, please.” Poe’s voice is low. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Finn stiffen, exchange an anxious glance with Dr. Kalonia.

“I’ll—I’ll be right out here,” Finn says. His hand reaches towards Poe, hesitates, falls. He leaves. The door closes heavily behind him _._

“Poe.” Dr. Kalonia lifts his chin, shines a light into each eye, peers at him closely. “Is there anything I should know about?”

“What? Oh. No! Not like— like that. No. I just—” He runs his tongue over painfully chapped lips. Dr. Kalonia offers him a glass of water. He takes it gratefully. In the end, he doesn’t finish the sentence. What else is there to say? Everything is the same. Everything is different.

Dr. Kalonia finishes her inspection in silence. She asks him to stand, helps him undress, eases his sore limbs into pale medbay linen, lets him sit back down on the cot. A mess of scars and sores and open gashes mark where the restraints cut into his skin. With steady hands, Dr. Kalonia applies smooth layers of bacta and wraps them all in white gauze— wrists, knees, ankles.

When she steps out, Poe drops his head into his hands. He can feel the calluses press into his forehead.

Dr. Kalonia returns a moment later with an IV pole and a few syringes. Before sliding the IV into his arm, she takes a few samples of his blood. It doesn’t do any favors for his spinning head. “I’m sorry, Poe,” she murmurs. “Normally I’d wait for this, you’re in no condition to have to replace this much blood, but— General’s orders. You’ll feel better when the IV kicks in.”

Poe nods, weary. She lets him lie down onto the cot, then reaches underneath it. For one terrified moment he’s sure she’s going to fasten the restraint straps over him and he can’t stand that, he can’t stand that, only the cuffs, nothing in the lockdown room, the General promised— but then Dr. Kalonia stands up again with the restraint straps dangling loosely from her hands, unhooked from the cot.

Her crooked smile goes a long way towards easing his frantic pulse. “Thought you might rest easier without these in the room,” she says. He could have sworn she winks at him on her way out.

Before the door closes, however, he stretches his a hand towards her. “Wait!” he croaks. “Is Finn—” From the alacrity at which Finn’s face appears in the doorway, he must have been standing just beside the door this whole time. “Come in?” Poe asks him. Finn’s face lights up.

Poe flinches at the solid clank of the lock when the door closes behind Finn. But it’s ok, there’s the two of them in here now, together, no restraints, no cuffs, no First Order-issue clothing. Limb by limb, Poe relaxes against the bed. He closes his eyes, exhausted. He feels the cool drip of the IV in his arm, imagines it filling his bloodstream with _safety,_ tracing his veins until it finds wherever his undamaged self is hiding.

Poe opens his eyes again, seeks out Finn in the dim lights. Finn looks startled to see Poe’s eyes open again. He hastily rearranges his face into something more pleasant, but Poe’s not fooled. He’s felt that look on his own face before—while staring at Finn in the medbay, waiting for him to wake up.

That’s a look that says _please, Force. Please. There is nothing I will not do to bring this man home._

Poe opens his hand, stretches his fingers out towards Finn’s. Finn takes the hand and presses it tightly. Poe closes his eyes again. He is not home yet, but he will be. Won’t he? He has to be. The last thing remembers before falling asleep is the rough press of Finn’s calluses against his own.

 

 

Poe wakes up when a nurse comes to remove the IV and offer him a bowl of broth. Hardly a welcome-home roasted nerf, but honestly, he’d probably throw up anything solid. When the nurse leaves, he sips it in silence. Finn’s holding a ration bar in one hand, but he seems to have forgotten about it now that’s Poe’s awake again.

“She called me Poe.”

Finn tilts his head, not following.

“The General. She called me Poe.”

Finn’s eyes flicker in sympathy. “Once your name is cleared, you’ll be reinstated as commander. You’ll get your squadrons back, everything.”

“You lead one now,” Poe begins, awkwardly.

“Yeah. With you and Iolo gone, we had two squadrons to reassign, so Snap, Jess, and I all got an upgrade. Snap got Red, Jess got Blue, I got Dagger.”

Poe raises his eyebrows. “Congratulations.”

“Why? It’s just because they needed another set of leaders. I’m not such a great pilot.”

“Finn.” Poe snorts. “The General would not have promoted you if she didn’t think you deserved it. Leading a squadron isn’t just about piloting. It’s about knowing people, guiding them, keeping them together when a mission goes to shit. I’ve seen you in action. You’re good at that.”

Finn’s pleased smile lights up his whole face. It’s a true credit to his character that his smile doesn’t even waver when he returns, “But now that you’re back, you’ll take over Red again. Snap’ll go back to leading Blue, of course. And they’ll give Dagger to Jess, because she’s much better than I am— and she’s got seniority, besides. I’ll go back to my place as Red Seven.”

Poe’s hands clench. “Buddy—” He clears his throat. “Buddy. I’m not sure you’ll have to. I don’t think they’re going to let me back.”

“That’s bantha shit.”’ Finn’s face closes. “Of course they’re going to let you back, Poe! You’re the Commander—”

“They think I’m guilty of treason, Finn.” Lightning darts of rage buzz beneath his skin. “Treason. Treason!” Poe flings himself off the cot— steadies himself against the wall— and starts pacing, unable to contain himself any longer. “Finn. I spent six months in there, _six months in that hellhole, Finn_ , and I come back to another cell? Not knowing if they’ll let me back, if they’ll expel me, _execute_ me for treason, _treason_ , Finn, fucking _treason_ , _me_ , do you know what I would do for you, all of you, any of you—”

Poe stops just short of the far wall and beats one fist into its padded surface, over and over and over. “Here I am, home on the base again, and I’m still cuffed, I’m still caged, I’m still—” The lightning darts are gathering, racing through him, burning him from the inside out. “They don’t trust me, Finn, they don’t trust me, I’m a stranger to them, I’m _on fucking trial_. There shouldn’t have to _be_ a trial, Finn—”

“Poe.” Finn grabs him from behind, spins him around, crushes him to his chest. “It’s just procedure. Not everyone thinks you’re a traitor. A lot of people thought—I mean—it looked bad, Poe. The transmission. The reports we’d gotten. It looked really bad.”

“You believed them—”

“ _No_ , Poe, I didn’t. I would never believe that kind of rancor shit.”

“Then why do  _they?”_

“I don’t know! But they’ll come back around.”

“No.” Poe can’t stop the vicious fury from taking over his voice. He shoves away from Finn, paces wildly around the tiny room. “You can’t get that kind of trust back, Finn. To follow someone into battle, you need to _believe_ in them, _believe_ they’re going to watch your six and get you home in one piece. A fraction of a second’s hesitation from a pilot who’s not completely gut-sure that I’m loyal means someone dies.” Poe pulls at his hair until it hurts. “How can they have stopped trusting me so quickly? A lifetime of giving the Resistance everything I’ve got. Leaping gladly towards death, just to save someone on my squadron. I would _die_ for you, Finn. For any of you. But they don’t trust me anymore. _How can they believe that I would do this?”_ Poe’s voice breaks. “I hate them,” he snarls. “I hate you all. I hate this cell. I hate this trial. I hate this war. I hate all of it!”

“Good.” Finn’s fists are clenched by his sides, his face flushed and intent on Poe’s.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, FUCKING _GOOD_ _?”_ Poe screams.

“I mean that a few hours ago you sat here with a face so numb and empty it terrified me,” Finn shouts back, “ _terrified_ me, Poe, thinking you might never really return from this. That you’d been hurt too deeply to recover. Hating us is _good_. Hate means you’re still alive. Means you can still feel. Means you care enough to recover someday. You have a right to be angry, Poe.”

“I _am_ angry at you. I’m angry at all of you! Not _you_ —” Poe clenches his teeth. “Right now,” he continues in a deadly rampage, “there are precisely five people in the entire FUCKING galaxy that I am not angry at. You. Rey. Jess. Snap. Karé. She’s grieving. I would have punched myself, in her shoes. But I would NOT have put me on fucking TRIAL, after being locked up like a pittin in a snaptrap. Because they _believe_ that I would—that I could—” His throat closes up. “ _Why do they believe it, Finn? Why am I still here in a fucking cell? Why isn’t it over yet?_ I need it to be over, I need it—I need—”

“It will be over! Look, Poe. The trial will be tomorrow. Everyone will hear the story. They’ll understand what happened. They’ll welcome you back. It’ll all be over, done, finished. Everything will be ok again. So come punch me now, if it’ll help. Scream. Break something. But don’t take it out on them, not in the trial. You have to get yourself under control.”

“Under control.” Poe lunges towards Finn and jabs a finger into his throat. “Under control. Fuck control. You know who’s been under _fucking_ control for _six fucking months_ in the hands of those _fucking sadistic psychopaths_? ME! I have HAD it with fucking control. I’m finally rescued, and you keep me in _shackles_ _?_ I’m finally back home, and you lock me in a _cell_ _?_ FUCK CONTROL!” He slams his body against the wall in a white-hot fury, ricochets back against Finn’s chest.

“Poe!” Finn shouts, grappling for a hold on his shoulders. Poe twists away and backs up, panting, curls stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“You know what I want, Finn?” Poe doesn’t bother waiting for an answer. “I want Iolo back. Mili. Orulska. Nyievit. Rimen. I want them alive again. I want everyone back, the senators and the outposts and the supply crews and whoever the fucking hell else they made me kill. I want _Black One_ back. I want those six months back. I want all of it.

“I want my squadrons back. I want my comrades back. I want to sleep without nightmares, _for_ _once in my life_ to sleep without nightmares. When I asked you, Finn, if you were real, you said yes, I wasn’t dreaming. That’s not what I asked. I knew it wasn’t a dream. I would never have a dream so nice. In my dreams, I shoot down Snap, then Jess, then Rey, then I blast the entire Resistance base, splatter the General’s brains across the hangar, then I shoot you down from the sky last of all. And I see the blaze of fire, I watch you fall, I listen to you scream as you die. I have killed you more times than I’ve ever fucked you, Finn.” Poe dashes a rough hand across his eyes. “Over and over again. Over and over and over and over and—”

Finn crushes Poe to his chest with shaking hands. “You _didn’t_ , Poe.” His voice scrapes against his throat. “You didn’t. And you won’t. It’s not real. Those were nightmares. And so were the last six months. And now we’ve woken up from them. You’re alive. You’re back. You’re safe now, you’re free, it’s over, it’s done!”

“ _It’s not done_ _!”_ Poe screams. “They think I’m a _traitor!”_

“But you _aren’t_. You would _never_ betray the Resistance. Not if there was any other choice.” Finn’s voice is a durasteel blade. “Whatever happens in the trial tomorrow, remember that. This is you, Poe.” He grips Poe’s shoulders and shakes him. “ _This_ is you. Not whatever fucked-up tool the First Order thought you were. Not whatever treasonous shit some people might be thinking now. _This._ Commander. Pilot. Friend. Lover. Mine. _You_.”

Poe stares at him, torpedo to the chest, in free fall. The grip on his shoulders is suddenly too much. He flinches out from underneath it. Finn lets go instantly, drops his hands to his sides, watches Poe’s face.

“I want myself back.” The words grate in Poe’s chest.

Finn’s face glitters. Poe’s eyes are dry, red-rimmed. Finn opens his arms. Poe collapses into them, buries his face in Finn’s shoulder, and silently screams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, gentle readers. You look a little confused. Maybe you thought "Poe getting better" would look like hot cocoa and a blanket?
> 
> If you haven't seen Agora or A Most Violent Year yet, do yourself a favor and go see them before rereading this chapter, which is dedicated to the incredible FURIOUS!OscarIsaac. 
> 
> Also, many thanks to the awesome corvinadea for help with Latin. 
> 
> Comments and concrits please! Come scream at me anytime. 
> 
> <3 you all


	5. nothing I wouldn't do for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Nulla fides ullo fuit umquam in foedere tanta_  
>        _Quanta in amore tuo ex parte reperta mea est._
> 
> There was no treaty with as much trust  
>       as was found in that of my love for you.  
> — Catullus 87
> 
> *** TW - references to past suicide attempts/suicidal ideation

 

Morning dawns far too early, bringing the impending trial in its wake. Before Poe can leave the lockdown room, however, there is the small matter of the cuffs. A nurse unlocks the door, pokes her head in. “Finn?”

“Right.” Finn leaves the room for a moment to retrieve the shackles from where he’d stashed them just outside the room the night before. _Fucking cuffs._ He glares at them.

Finn steps back inside the room, then hesitates. Poe’s sitting on the end of the cot, staring blankly at his hands, slim back bowed in a tired arc. He straightens with a start when the door clanks solidly shut behind Finn.

 _Fucking cuffs._ Poe’s stomach flips with a sudden wave of nausea. He holds his wrists out before him, willing himself to keep it together— _come on, Poe, it’s just a fucking symbol, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s ok, it’s not forever—_ but he can’t, he can’t, he—

“No. Please, Finn. No.” Poe drops his hands to his sides and grips the cot to stop them from trembling.

Finn’s face twists. “I’m sorry, Poe, I’m so sorry. It’s just for the trial, it’ll be over soon, it’s ok—”

Poe’s shaking his head. _No, no, no, no, no—_

“Poe!” Finn drops the shackles and grabs Poe’s shoulders into a tight hug. “Poe. It’ll be ok. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He can feel the quiet hitches of his lover’s breath between his arms. They lean into each other for a long moment, trying to be ok. Failing miserably.

“Fuck this.” Finn spins away, presses on his commlink. “Come on, come on,” he mutters. “Answer your fucking comm—” He cuts off as the commlink crackles with a response.

“Captain Finn?”

Finn clears his throat. “Right. Yes. General Organa. Good morning. Are the cuffs really necessary? Poe’s not dangerous. He’s not going to hurt anyone or run away. He can hardly walk down the hall by himself. Can’t I just—”

“Regulations, Finn.” General Organa briskly cuts him off. “I have already made all of the accommodations I can. Poe is on trial for high treason, as well as one hundred and twenty-seven counts of murder. Anyone else would have been shackled as well and accompanied by at least two armed guards.”

Finn grits his teeth and tries to acquiesce. Fails at that, too, when he looks up to find Poe pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “General. You said Resistance soldiers think for themselves. Well, I am thinking for myself right now, and I think that this is cruel and inhumane.” Finn’s tone stops just short of a snarl.

“Should I send someone else to put them on and escort Poe to the courtroom? We start in five minutes, Finn.”

“No! No no no, I’ll do it. But—”

“Good.” The General cuts him off. “I’ll see you there.”

Finn looks over at Poe. Poe’s lips twitch, trying to curl upwards, but the smile doesn’t climb above the dark bruising under his eyes. “Wow. I’m impressed. Back-talking the General? Ex-trooper Finn wouldn’t have dreamed of it.”

There’s a sharp light in Finn’s eyes. “You’re talking to the guy who lied his way onto Starkiller, remember. Authority versus love? There’s never been a question in my mind.”

Poe’s lips quirk in a lopsided smile. “It’s kinda sexy, you know that?’

Finn laughs and steps back to Poe’s cot. “Look, it can’t be worse than another day in that cell, right?”

 _Maybe not, but—_ Poe raises his eyebrows. “On trial in my own home base? Treated like a criminal by those I’ve always fought for?” His hands clench and reclench. “I’m guilty of it, Finn,” he whispers. “The murders. The treason, no— _never_. _Ever._ But all those deaths— there was no way out, I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t— I wouldn’t do that, Finn, not if I had any choice in all the galaxy—”

“Then tell them that, Poe. Show them who you are.”

“I plan to.” There’s no question in that statement.

“Good.” Finn lets him breathe for a moment. At last he reluctantly continues, “But— in order to get from here to there…” He picks up the shackles.

“Right. Ok. Yeah. I can do this,” Poe says, but the fuel gauge on the conviction in his voice hovers near empty.

“You sure?”

Finn’s question trips a memory of their first night together, the way Poe stopped and stopped again, waiting for Finn to say not yes but _yes_. Poe’s mouth twists, rueful. “Now there’s a question the First Order never asks.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

Poe rests in Finn’s warm brown gaze for a moment, trying to pull his strength back out of hiding. Finally he sighs. “I’m sure. If this is the only way to end this game, then that’s how I’ll play.”

He holds his wrists out again. Finn catches them in a warm hand and presses a kiss to each palm. Poe’s hands curl down onto Finn’s shoulders. He pulls his lover closer, rests his head for a moment against Finn’s chest.

“I’m sorry, Poe,” Finn whispers.

“‘S ok,” Poe shrugs. “I’ll be fine. They’re not awful, as far as bracelets go. That pair I saw once on a Hutt’s slavegirl— oof. Those were nasty. These? Not a big deal. Kinda flashy, I guess. If you’re into heavy metal and risk of shock.”

Despite his bravado, Poe can hear his pulse start to hammer in his chest as Finn refastens the cuffs around his wrists. He winces as the shackles scrape against the bandages covering the raw wounds on his wrists. Desperate for a distraction, he asks, “Hey, how’d you get appointed to be my handler, anyway?”

The sudden fire in Finn’s eyes startles him. “Do you think I’d let anyone else haul you around in these?” Bad enough that Poe had to wear the cuffs. The least Finn could do was try to ease the strain with his familiar touch. The thought of someone else yanking on the shackles and dragging Poe down the hallway—

A crooked grin steals across Poe’s face. “You know, I think I kinda like it when you get protective on me.”

“Good.” Cuffs secure, Finn braces Poe’s elbow to help him up.  “‘Cause I don’t plan to let go of you anytime soon.”

“Didn’t know you were kinky like that, Finn.”

Finn’s mischievous leer knocks Poe’s breath away. “Better believe it.”

Poe grins back. “Hmm. Interesting. We might have to explore this a little further, later. Not—not the cuffs. But the caring thing. That I like.” He sways closer to Finn, runs his thumb up and down Finn’s fly.

Finn catches Poe’s hands in his and brings them up for a brief kiss. “Poe. You just got off an IV line. You can hardly walk without falling. There is _no way_ you can be up for this right now.”

Poe shrugs, rocks his hips against Finn’s. “Well, maybe not,” he admits. “But a guy can dream, can’t he?”

Finn laughs and tugs their bodies together. “Moment this trial is over, Poe. That’s a promise.”

Poe’s eyes flicker only slightly. “And if they rule against me?”

Finn bares his teeth in a wicked smile. “Then we make a daring getaway in an X-wing and live out the rest of our lives together on a beautiful planet in the Outer Rim, far from this stupid war.”

Poe blinks rapidly. “You’d do that for me. Desert the Resistance. Flee.”

“Haven’t you been paying attention, Poe?” Finn’s still smiling, but his eyes lock tightly onto Poe’s. “There is _nothing_ I wouldn’t do for you.”

Poe swallows. After a moment, he nods. “Likewise.”

Finn nods back, unsurprised. “I know.”

“Nerfherder.” Poe butts his head into Finn’s chest. Finn wraps his arms around him one more time before they leave, warm and safe and solid. They fit together almost like they always have, bodies still matched for height.

Matching bodies— Poe’s mind flits to the jacket that’s always fit them both, then slides into the fond memory of finding Finn alive again on the landing bay. The first time he had thought _yes, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for this man._ Poe remembers the private trial that had preceded that reunion, judging his crime of having broken before Kylo Ren. He’d survived that trial. He’d survive this one too. And if not—well, the thought of _rest of our lives_ _together_ was damn tempting.

Poe takes a deep breath and straightens his back. “Let’s get this fucker over with.”

Finn raises his brows. “S-foils in attack position?”

Poe throws his head back in a full laugh. “Damn straight.”

Something deep in Finn relaxes at the sight. _He really laughed,_ Finn thinks. _Right on target._

The unreserved glee in Finn’s answering grin gives Poe strength. _He really grinned,_ Poe thinks. _Direct hit._

Finn comms the nurse. She opens the door to the lockdown room. They walk out. Finn and Poe make their slow way down the curving hallways to the courtroom together, hand in hand against the world.

 

 

The courtroom is already full by the time they arrive. Poe hesitates before entering, feeling his stomach flip through a barrel roll without him.

Finn’s eyes are steady on his. “You can do this, Poe.”

There’s a galaxy of difference between saying _you can do this_ so that someone else will act as though they believe it and saying _you can do this_ because there is no doubt in your mind that they can. Poe knows because he’s said it both ways, many times, hands on a new recruit’s shoulders before a daunting mission.

This is the latter. Finn’s faith finally gives Poe a torch to light with the flame that’s been smouldering in his chest since they landed. On trial for treason. After six months trying to die for them in the worst hell he can imagine. After spending his life fighting for them, with them, saving their lives and their cause. How can they believe he could ever be a traitor?

_You can do this, Poe._

There’s an incendiary glint in Poe’s eyes as he looks back at Finn. “I will.”

 

 

"My name is Commander Poe Dameron.” The title slips out automatically, his default introduction in a formal military situation. Once out of his lips, however, it adds fuel to the fire burning between his ribs. That’s who he is. If they are going to put him on trial, they will have to try all of him. Poe stares Leia down, back straight, shoulders square. “This is my testimony.” He draws a deep breath.

“I was shot down immediately before jumping to hyper after completing Operation 689. They planned their shots well. They hit the hyperdrive thrusters, the right engine cluster, the commlink transmitter, and my rear blasters. I immediately spun out of control, blacked out. I woke up shackled in a First Order cell.” Poe’s hands tighten into fists.

“No one ever came for me. No one asked me any questions. I tried talking the guards into letting me go. Freeing themselves, like Finn. At least telling me what I was being kept for. They never responded. I paced, I thought, I talked at the guards just to hear a human voice. I slept, I woke, and sometimes I would wake with headaches, the most awful, skull-crushing headaches I’ve ever felt. They’d pass, eventually, and I’d resume as before. But every time I woke from one, something would be wrong. I woke up with strange bruises I had no memory of. Sore, cramped muscles. Blisters on my fingers.” His voice shakes slightly. “I was shackled all day, touching nothing, and I woke up with blisters on my fingers? They became calluses. Calluses, from sitting in a cell all day. And I had no memory of showering, shaving, changing clothes, but every time I woke with a headache, my face was clean-shaven and my clothes were fresh. I don’t know how long they kept me there. It was impossible to keep track. There was no way to tell day from night. And then I would wake again with a headache, unable to tell how long I had been asleep.

“I thought I was going mad. To distract myself, I ran through the holosim in my head. I’ve done it so many times, each scenario. I’ve mostly memorized it by now. I went through each simulation in _Black One_ —” Finn’s sure he’s not the only one who hears Poe’s voice hitch at the name of his beloved ship— “the podrace, the canyon run, the Death Star, the second Death Star, dogfights alpha through tau, the new Starkiller sim. And then once I’d gone through all of them, I switched ships. A-wing. B-wing. Y-wing. Landskiff. Lambda. Upsilon.”

Poe’s mouth opens over the next word, gaping like a skull.

“TIE-fighter.” The next breath bares his teeth open in an unconscious snarl. “I realized—” His throat is nearly too tight to speak. “The calluses on my hands. Matched the grip of a TIE-fighter’s controls.”

A horrified murmur spreads through the room. Poe locks his eyes on Finn’s steady gaze to gather the strength to continue.

“I tried to die.” His voice cracks. “I managed to get my shirt around my neck, started to tie it. The guards stopped me. I went to throw myself into the wall, bash my head in. The guards stopped me. Locked me in a full-body restraint. I refused to eat. They fed me when I was—gone. I screamed at the guards. They gagged me. And I kept waking up with those headaches, paralyzing headaches. Unsure how much time had passed. Knowing that—that I—”

Poe’s throat is too tight to speak. His head falls to his cuffed wrists. The only sound in the courtroom is the echo of his hoarse breaths.

“I wanted to die,” he whispers at last. “I couldn’t.”

Finally he looks up again. Leia’s eyes are dark with horror. Snap’s biting down on his knuckles, nauseated. Jess’ face is buried in Rey’s neck. Rey’s good hand grips Jess’ shoulder, eyes hard. Poe’s eyes are blank, staring, holes, carved into a melted-wax sculpture of a person who used to be Commander Dameron. The room is silent.

“That is my testimony.”

 

 

Finn guides Poe back down to his seat on the bench beside him, grips Poe’s hands in his to ease their trembling. He leans against Poe, wraps an arm around his shoulders. As on the Upsilon, Poe remains erect, leaning neither into nor away from Finn’s grasp. Needing comfort. Needing pain.

“You did well,” Finn murmurs. “You did so well, Poe. Look at the room. They listened to you.” It’s clear—to Finn, at least—that the horror in the eyes of most of the courtroom audience indicates their renewed trust in Poe.

The head juror waves for silence. “Next witness.”

Finn wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and rises.

 

 

“My name is Captain Finn. This is my testimony.” Finn tells the story of their rescue of Poe in short, clear terms, calmly outlining each step. When he gets to their entrance into Poe’s cell, however, he has to pause for a moment, press his nails into his palms to keep the ragged emotion from derailing his testimony.

It doesn’t really work.

“Look.” Finn spreads his hands towards the courtroom. “I am a Resistance fighter. But I was once a Stormtrooper. I knew of a few Republic and Resistance traitors who defected in favor of the First Order. They were treated lavishly, in the hopes that others would follow their example. When we found Poe—” He presses his lips together in fury. “You can see what he looks like. You can see how they treated him. We found him restrained to an upright chair, gagged with metal, starved and wasted and half out of his mind. Can any of you _possibly_ doubt that he was there on his own free will? Can any of you _possibly_ believe that he would turn? If he had any other choice?” Finn’s breath burns hot in his throat. He can’t stop himself from leaning forward over the podium, reaching towards the audience with a passion too fervent to control.

“For most people, having no choice means do it or die. For Poe, having no choice means _no other options exist._ If there had been any way out, anything at all, he would have found it. He deserves our trust, the way we have always trusted him. He deserves a clear name. He deserves to be reinstated as commander. And most of all, he deserves an apology for the way we have treated him! This is inhumane. He needs _care._  He needs _rest._  He needs your _love_.” Finn swallows hard. “How many times has he saved your lives, without a thought for his own?” Finn looks around the room, standing tall behind the podium. “From the evidence I have seen, I believe that Commander Dameron is innocent of all charges. That is my testimony.”

Finn returns to his seat to a scattering of thunderous applause. Half the base is with him. The other half is silent.

Poe takes his hand.

 

 

The trial drags on all morning. Snap, Jess, Rey, and—yes—Karé all testify in favor of Poe’s loyalty, as do Major Ematt, Admiral Ackbar, and a few of the other officers on the base.

But plenty of others testify against Poe, citing the need for tight security, even if he was telling the truth. Jess stands to the side of the room while they speak, taking notes in a small datapad, lips pressed into a thin hard line. Rey hisses at her to stop, but these two are well matched in both stubbornness and fierceness. Once Jess agrees to let Rey take out half of Poe’s detractors, Rey lets her continue jotting down names.

The evidence from the intel officers and flight techs sends Poe’s shoulders slumping in excruciating grief. It’s him. There’s no doubt in his mind. The flightpaths they’ve tracked, the maneuvers, the style of shooting— it’s him. Every pilot in the room knows it’s him.

Poe buries his head in Finn’s shoulder. Finn’s arms wrap tight around him, hold him close. Neither of them mention the damp patch on Finn’s sleeve when Poe pulls away at last, eyes haunted.

 

 

When the intels and flight techs have finished, the head juror has to press the button three times for silence. As the bell finally stops ringing, she motions to the podium. “Next witness.”

Dr. Kalonia walks to the stand.

“Why is she testifying?” Poe whispers to Finn.

Finn can only shake his head. “I have no idea.”

“My name is Major Harter Kalonia. This is my testimony.” Dr. Kalonia pushes up her sleeves before she begins her statement. “Poe.” She is the first witness to address him directly. “When you arrived on base yesterday, General Organa instructed me to take blood samples from you in order to analyze them for traces of foreign material before it dissipated in your system.”

Poe draws nearer to Finn, elbows tucked close to his sides.

“We did, indeed, find traces of a few strange substances still floating in your bloodstream. My lab team has been working through the night to analyze its compounds and synthesize as close a replica as we can. Based on your testimony of strange headaches and periodic gaps in your memory, I believe that this drug may function as a brainwashing or mind control device, at least for short periods of time. However, this is only a hypothesis. In order to test it, we would have to devise an experimental protocol and find a willing subject. I believe the results will provide a definitive answer as to whether it is possible to persuade someone to commit horrible acts against their deeply held beliefs. That is my testimony.” Dr. Kalonia resumes her seat, back straight.

“Any other witnesses?” The head juror scans the room. They are silent. “Thank you for your testimonies. We will now discuss the evidence at hand. The relevant parties are requested to leave the room.”

Finn’s arm under Poe’s elbow is the only reason he is vertical right now. But as he is vertical, he walks out of the room in his Commander stance: eyes straight forward, body erect, head held high. Once the doors are closed behind them, Poe sinks bonelessly into the chair by the courtroom entrance.  Finn locks Poe to the metal ring beside it with a murmured apology. “We’re gonna do this, Poe.” His voice is low but firm, the tones of a captain and a squadron leader. “You’re going to be ok.” He presses a fervent kiss to Poe’s cheek and hurries back inside to argue the case.

The guard stationed outside the courtroom trains his eyes on Poe. “Bored yet?” Poe asks.

He jumps in his seat when the guard actually responds. “Always. I can’t even hear what they’re saying in there.”

“Sorry I can’t provide you with any better entertainment. I’m all used up at the moment.”

The guard laughs. His name is coming back to Poe now, Ferren something, Frein, no— “Ferin.”

Ferin’s face brightens into a broad grin. “Commander Dameron. Glad to have you back.”

Guards with faces. Guards who smile and laugh and respond to him and call him by name.

It’s a good start. Poe nods at him. “Wake me up when they’re all talked out?”

Ferin salutes. “Yes, sir.”

It is a very, _very_ odd feeling to be saluted and called _sir_ while shackled to a wall.

 

 

Poe jolts awake when the doors open with a metallic _clang_. Finn’s at his elbow again, unlocking the cuffs from the wall and walking him back inside the courtroom. With one last press of his hand around Poe’s arm, he leaves Poe on the courtroom floor. Poe straightens into Commander Dameron again, heart pounding.

Leia stands to read the verdict. “Poe.”

 _No._ Poe locks his knees before they buckle out from beneath him.

“You have been charged with one hundred and twenty-seven counts of murder and one count of high treason to the Resistance. Although the evidence points directly towards your culpability for the murders, other evidence indicates that you may not have committed these crimes of your own free will. In particular, Dr. Kalonia’s hypothesis that your mind may have been controlled by a drug appears highly plausible. We are therefore adjourning this trial for now in order to test the drug the medlab has synthesized. We will come to a final verdict once the tests have concluded. Until that time, you will stay in the medbay’s lockdown room or wear handcuffs and stay within sight of a guard. Do you accept this temporary ruling?”

Leia’s eyes are dark and fierce and commanding. So are his own, he thinks, sometimes, but maybe not right now. Right now, his eyes hold only fury.

“Do you accept?” Leia repeats.

“What choice do I have?” Poe’s voice is half a hair short of a snarl.

Leia waits. Poe stands, back painfully straight before the entire Resistance base, the people he has flown with, talked with, laughed with, eaten with, danced with, gotten smashed with, fucked with, spent nearly all of his time with for the last four years. People who still think he is a traitor.

“I will add, Poe,” Leia continues, voice soft, “that this room came to a unanimous conclusion on this. None of us want to believe you are a traitor. But right now the only hard evidence we have supports that theory. In order to clear your name in this court, we need to have hard evidence in your favor. We believe that Dr. Kalonia’s drug may provide exactly that.” She pauses for a moment, then repeats, “Do you accept this ruling?”

Poe’s chin moves up, down. His eyes sweep the courtroom. A bitter, _bitter,_  rage is rising in him, choking him, blurring his sight. But Leia’s dismissing the court, people are sweeping around him, Finn’s grabbing his arm and pulling on him to leave, Jess and Rey and Snap are forming a tight vanguard by his sides. Before they pass through the courtroom doors, however, Poe turns back for a moment. He finds Leia standing alone in the middle of the room, watching them walk out.

She raises her hand to him in a Resistance salute.

Poe’s shoulders straighten.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your incredible comments so far! When I said I put a bit of my soul into this work, I meant it. It means a lot to me to see your comments. 
> 
> And I PROMISE I'm putting him back together.


	6. for Poe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _omnia haec, quaecumque feret uoluntas_  
>        _caelitum, temptare simul parati_
> 
> Oh, my friends, ready as you are to encounter all these risks with me  
>       whatever the will of the gods above shall bring  
> — Catullus 10

Jess, Rey, Snap, and Finn join Poe in the lockdown room for lunch. Soon after they finish, the door opens again to admit Dr. Kalonia, Leia, Luke, two lab techs, and three intel techs. It’s a tight fit. When everyone’s finally settled, Poe slides closer to Finn, leaning back against the wall at the head of the cot. He rests his head on Finn’s shoulder, starved for touch, needing to distract himself from the closeness of the room and the IV back in his arm again.

“So.” Leia folds her hands across her knee. “How are we going to test the drug?”

 

 

Things they decide:

  1. The drug must not simply force a person to obey orders, because no one would be able to issue orders fast enough to keep up with a starfighter in a dogfight.
  2. Therefore, it must require a brainwashing session in order to instill a basic set of beliefs, goals, and targets for the subject to follow during a battle.
  3. The test subject should not be anyone who is Force-sensitive, because the drug will most likely either not work or have only limited effectiveness.
  4. The subject also should not be someone who is too close to Poe, in order to avoid accusations of bias.
  5. However, the only people who are likely to be willing to volunteer to test the drug are sitting in this room right now. Therefore, it will have to be one of them.
  6. Another measure to prevent accusations of bias: Poe should not be present at the test.
  7. In order to ensure that the subject is not simply playing along with the experiment, the test should be repeated in increasingly difficult rounds.
  8. Three rounds should be sufficient.
  9. If the blaster is empty or filled with blanks, the subject will figure out the ruse too quickly. It must be full of live bolts.



 

 

Other things they decide, once Leia and the officers have left:

  1. Poe is not allowed to observe the test, but Poe is also not going to wear the fucking cuffs again if he can possibly prevent it.
  2. Therefore, Poe will stay inside the lockdown room.
  3. However, all of them will be at the test. This leaves Poe alone in the room.
  4. Poe will go nuts if he is left inside a cell again.
  5. It would not be good for Poe to go nuts.
  6. Ergo, Poe needs something to do.
  7. BB-8 and a toolbox should be enough of a distraction.



 

 

“So, Poe. Anything I should know in advance?” Jess asks, braiding Rey’s hair while they wait for Dr. Kalonia to come back with a hypo of the test drug.

“Well, you can look forward to the worst headache of your life.” Poe’s lips pinch tight, remembering.

“Worse than a hangover from Akivan moonshine?” Jess casts a snarky eye at Snap.

Poe snorts. “Remember how Starkiller was just a bigger Death Star?”

“Am I going to regret volunteering for this?”

“Probably.” Poe grins at her.

 

 

At first it seems like nothing has happened. Jess is her normal, snarky self, making fun of the process, making faces at Finn as he tries to impersonate Phasma’s scariest First Order reconditioner persona. Jess has been instructed to say what she truly believes, so for the first twenty-one minutes, she mouths off at him and chants Resistance fight songs to counter his First Order propaganda. (Finn recognizes Jess’ snark-defense system. No wonder she gets on so well with Poe.) A sharp word from General Organa through the commlink is the only thing that makes her cut the sarcasm.

And then she starts to agree with him.

It’s terrifying. It’s still _Jess_ , profane and cocky and always two steps ahead of him, but now the First Order is in her mouth, in her _eyes._ The same passion that normally sends her cackling with glee over the fiery carcass of a former TIE-fighter now ignites her with a fervent desire to kill Resistance scum. Finn shows her holos of the Resistance fighters, Leia, Luke, Rey. “Resistance scum!” Jess spits, as instructed.

Thirty-eight minutes in, Finn has to excuse himself from the interrogation room. He slumps forward against the hallway wall, leans with his head in his arms. Leia steps out of the adjacent room where they’ve been watching through a one-way mirror and listening in through the commlink.

“Finn?”

“I can’t do this. General Organa. Oh, Force. I can’t do this.”

“Finn. Why did you volunteer for this?”

“Because I’m the best one for the job. I know all of that First Order bantha shit inside and out. I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.”

“I didn’t ask why you were the best one for the job. I asked why you volunteered to do it.”

Finn closes his eyes. He can feel a trickle of sweat drip down his back.

“For Poe,” he says at last. _For Poe._

He straightens up from the wall, smoothes down his uniform, salutes his General, and reenters the interrogation room.

 

 

“How much do you trust me, Snap?” Luke asks.

“Not quite enough.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

 

 

After a standard hour, Jess is as ardent a proponent of the First Order as Finn’s ever seen. He escorts her to the next phase of the test, tailed by a pair of guards for backup. Most of the Resistance forces are already outside in the target range’s viewing arena, curious to see the results of Dr. Kalonia’s experiment. The other members of the test team are already in place.

Finn picks up the blaster, but hesitates before walking Jess outside. “Are we really doing this?” he mutters into the comm on his wrist.

“ _Yes_ ,” Rey responds, testy. “Let’s get this over with already. How did the first phase go?”

Finn takes a moment before responding, “Terrifying.”

“It worked, then?”

“Rey, are you sure you—”

“Finn. When has doubting me ever been a good idea?”

“Right.” Finn gulps. He escorts Jess onto the target range.

Snap stands where one of the plasteel Stormtrooper targets are usually posted, hands casually cocked on his hips. Finn points to him. “Do you recognize that man?”

“Of course. That’s Snap.”

“What do you think of him?”

“He’s a Resistance pilot, isn’t he? You showed me his holo. I think he’s a pile of hot bantha shit.”

Snap can’t help cracking up at the familiar line. She does, in fact, think he is a pile of hot bantha shit, and has frequently informed him of it in no uncertain terms.

“Shit, Finn, I thought you said it worked!” he calls.

“What do you think of Resistance pilots?” Finn asks, hands tight on the blaster.

“I think they’re scum and they deserve to die.”

“Would you like to shoot him?”

“Yes.” Snap’s not laughing anymore.

Finn thumbs his comm. “Ready?”

“Ready.” The response crackles as Finn hands Jess the blaster. She raises it to her shoulder in one smooth, practiced gesture, adjusts it a hair to the right the way she always does, and fires straight at Snap’s heart.

The blaster bolt swerves to hit an empty patch of ground, hard enough to send vibrations from its impact through Finn’s ribs. “Fuck!” Snap puts a hand on his chest, heart pounding. He casts a nervous glance sideways at the plume of smoke now rising from a new hole in the ground.

“How did I miss?” Jess bares her teeth at him. “Eat this, you fucking Resistance huttspawn!” She aims again, fires a full round in quick succession. Snap dives for cover behind a low wall, unable to take the tension any longer. The bolts curve neatly to join the first, enlarging the hole into a minor crater.

“Are we done here? I think we’re done!” Snap’s voice shakes. “Is there any more evidence you need?”

“Proceed to the second phase of the test.” Leia’s voice is crisp through their comms, betraying no signs of shock. “Stay behind that cover until they’re gone, Commander Wexley. You did good work. Finn, ready?”

Finn gulps. “Ready.” He turns to Jess, who’s ready to leap out onto the target range and throttle Snap with her bare hands. “Jess.” She salutes him. “At ease. Follow me.”

His hands are not shaking. He is not shaking. He is going to escort his friend who just shot another of his friends to stand in front of the rest of his friends, still holding a blaster and raring to kill Resistance fighters. _I can do this. I can do this._

 _Oh_ , _Force._

Finn escorts Jess from the target range to the viewing arena. A sea of horrified faces greets them. “Jess. Do you know who these people are?”

“They’re Resistance fighters, all of them. They’re all in uniform. And—” It only takes Jess a moment to locate Leia’s authoritative gaze staring from the front row. “And that witch—” She points a finger. Leia’s mouth quirks in a brief, crooked smile. “She’s the Resistance General.”

“What do you think of her?”

“I think she deserves to die. Permission to kill her, Captain Finn, sir.” Jess is vibrating by his side.

“Permission granted.”

Leia doesn’t flinch as a hail of bolts rush straight towards her before changing course mid-air and burying themselves harmlessly in the ground. A jumble of shouts ring out, accompanied by the hiss-click of a hundred blasters aimed at Jess’ short frame. “Stand down.” It’s a few moments before the fighters obey their General’s quiet order. “I told you to keep your safeties _on._  If you cannot follow orders, you may remove yourselves from these proceedings.”

The arena is silent. Leia’s eyes meet Finn’s. “Ready?”

“Fuck no.” Finn’s hands press into his sides to keep him from shaking.

“Do you want someone else to take over?”

“Are you kidding? None of the rest of you are safe with her now.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Finn takes a deep breath and thumbs his comm. “Rey. Ready?”

“Coming out now.” Rey walks calmly out of the base doors towards the arena, robes swirling through the dust at her feet. Her lightsaber is sheathed at her belt, but her hands are unarmed. Finn’s heart jumps into overdrive. _She can do this. We can do this._  He forces himself to continue. “Jess. Do you know this woman?”

“Of course,” Jess answers readily. “That’s Rey.”

“And what do you think of her?” _Get a grip on yourself, Finn._

“Jedi scum.” Jess spits into the dirt. “She deserves to die. Permission to kill her, Captain Finn, sir.”

Rey’s eyes flicker only slightly. Finn gives her a moment. Well, she probably doesn’t need it, but he does. “Permission granted.”

The echoes from Jess’ blaster are deafening. A new crater smokes in the earth.  

“Fucking Jedi scum!” Jess runs toward Rey at full tilt, shooting as she goes, until the blaster flies out of her hands to land at Rey’s feet. “What—” Jess’ pilot reflexes are fast as ever. She hurls herself at Rey, grabs her by the throat, and chokes her until she’s flung away, held immobile a few paces from Rey’s outstretched hand.

“Leia. Are we done here?” Rey’s voice is distant, eyes focused on Jess. Close as he is, Finn can see the tips of her fingers tremble almost imperceptibly. He is working on taking deep enough breaths to keep his lunch inside his stomach. It’s _Jess._ How many times has she jumped into Rey’s open arms to tackle her into a _hug?_ Not to try to choke her.

It’s not Jess anymore.

“Yes, Rey. That’s enough evidence. Finn, commence talkdown.”

Rey swivels Jess’ pinioned body around to face Finn.

“Jess.” Finn spreads his hands, approaches with caution. “You fight for the Resistance. These are not your enemies. All of the people here are on your side. This was a test. You did very well. Now it is time to be loyal to the Resistance again. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” The moment Rey releases Jess, she’s running towards Finn, who opens his arms to hug her—and is bowled over by her ferocious snarl as she knocks him down to one knee, hands around his throat. “I understand that you’re a traitor! You said you were with the First Order. Now you’re trying to turn me—” Jess’s voice stops abruptly as Finn flips their bodies and pins her to the ground. He’s not sure which Jedi silenced her, but he’s grateful.

“You can both let her go now. I’ll take her from here.” Rey’s voice is even, but her eyes—

Finn carefully lifts his hands off of Jess and rises to his feet, looking away from Jess’ rabid fury. He steps towards Rey, puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s not her,” he murmurs.

“I know that.” Rey’s cool eyes meet his. “Do you?”

Finn takes a deep breath. He turns back to face Jess again. “Jess. Listen to me. This is an order. You are one of the Resistance. You believe in our cause. You fly for us. We are your friends. Do you remember?”

“I’ll remember that you’re a traitor,” Jess hisses. She strains against Rey’s Force bond. “You were the one who told me that traitors deserve to die. I will not rest until I have killed you, you fucking huttspawn. And the rest of your Resistance friends. And all of those Jedi scum.”

This was not supposed to happen. “Leia. She’s not changing back. I don’t know what to do.”

Leia sighs wearily. “Take her to a holding cell. We’ll have to hope that it just wears off on its own. And cuff her so she doesn’t have a chance to attack anyone else. Rey can’t hold her in Force-bonds all day. If she’s not back to herself within a day, we will hold another meeting to decide how to proceed. Dr. Kalonia?”

“Yes?” their comms crackle.

“Try to find an antidote. Just in case.”

With a sweep of Rey’s hand, Jess is vertical. Finn takes the pair of just-in-case shock shackles from his pocket— and closes his hand on air as Rey calls them from his grasp. She eases them onto Jess’ wrists with careful hands. Another wave, and Jess is gliding along beside Rey, straining fruitlessly to escape the shackles and Rey’s Force bonds.

Rey desperately wants to touch Jess’ arm in apology, but she will not touch Jess when Jess cannot choose whether she wants to be touched.

Finn sees the tips of Rey’s fingers twitch. He offers his hand. Rey takes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I am completely blown by your comments on each chapter. I'm working on responding to all of them, I swear! 
> 
> AND guess what guess what AAAAAH! My writing workshop is going to critique some of my work (including a fierce, victorious, exultant heat) tomorrow! I'm totally calm. Totally prepared. Holy shit. AAAAAAAAAAAAAH! 
> 
> However, because there is no way I can handle the nervousness of both a critique and posting a new chapter on the same day, and because I can't post on Friday afternoons, the next chapter will go live on Saturday morning.
> 
> If it makes you feel any better (and it should) I've almost finished the ending and HOT DAMN am I excited. Are you excited? Get excited.


	7. then why are there bruises on your neck?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _necdum etiam sese quae uisit uisere credit,_   
>  _utpote fallaci quae tum primum excita somno_
> 
>  
> 
> Not yet can she believe she beholds what yet she does behold;  
>       since now, now first wakened from treacherous sleep  
> — Catullus 64

 

“Poe?”

“Finn! How’d it go?”

Finn will never get tired of hearing Poe’s voice, even distorted through a comm.  He draws a slow breath, unsure how to answer. “Terrifying.”

Poe is silent. “That could mean a lot of different things, buddy,” he says at last, voice strained. “Care to elaborate?”

Finn slides down the wall outside Jess’ holding cell until he’s sitting on the cold floor, knees pulled up to his chest. “Ok. So. It worked. I think. Oh, kriff.”

“Captain Finn. Report.” Poe orders.

Finn clears his throat. “Yessir,” he replies automatically. “Right. So, they injected the drug into Jess. I started to try to brainwash her. She resisted at first— and then she started to _agree,_ Poe, but it was Jess, still backtalking me every step of the way but now _agreeing_ with the First Order, and we took her out to the target range and _she shot at Snap_ , Poe, she shot at Snap and Leia and—” He gulps. “And Rey. She shot at Rey, Poe. Called her a Jedi scum, ran and tried to choke her. I tried to talk her down then but she wouldn’t— she just wouldn’t go back to normal. She tackled me, called me a traitor to the First Order, fought me until Rey froze her.” Finn pauses to catch his breath. “She _shot us_ , Poe.” His voice shakes. “With a live blaster. She just wouldn’t stop attacking. _Jess_. It was terrifying.”

The comm crackles with the static of Poe’s breath. “What did you do with her?” he asks.

“Cuffed her and put her in a holding cell.”

“In a holding cell?” Poe’s aghast. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she still awake?”

“Um— yeah? I don’t know? Why?”

“If it’s the same drug they gave me—” Poe swallows. “She’ll black out eventually and wake up in serious pain. I don’t know if that was caused by the same drug, though. Maybe they used a separate memory wiper? I don’t know. But if she does pass out, it’s probably all included. She shouldn’t be alone in that cell, Finn, _don’t let her wake up alone_.” Poe’s voice shakes.

“Ok, ok! I’ll check on her.” One of the guards walks with Finn into the cell, stun baton at the ready. Jess is still awake, but she doesn’t look quite right— sitting on the floor, slumped back against the wall, staring vaguely up at the two of them. “Jess?” Finn asks.

“...hmm?”

Finn crouches in front of her, a safe distance away. “How’re you doing?”

“...mmm?”

Finn stands and thumbs his comm again to reach General Organa.

 

 

Poe scrambles to his feet with obvious relief as their small brigade invades the lockdown room. BB-8 is now scattered in small pieces around the floor by his feet. Finn and Rey lay Jess’ now unconscious body on the cot. Her wrists and ankles are still shackled— no one’s certain if the drug will be fully out of her system once she wakes up, or if it will require synthesizing a separate drug, or she’ll need to be reverse-brainwashed.

Finn really doesn’t want to think about any of those possibilities. She will wake up, and she will be Jess again. In the meantime, they will wait, he and Poe and Rey.

Poe won’t allow even Rey to touch BB-8’s inner workings, but he finally, _grudgingly_ allows her to take a small rag and clean the crumpled exterior plates. They all hold their breath as Poe connects BB-8’s mostly intact core processor to a datapad. Poe’s brow knits in a fine line as he reads down the long stream of code, but it all looks good. Lights on. Situation normal.

When he looks up with the broadest grin they’ve ever seen, Finn and Rey break into laughter. The lockdown room is the perfect place for a tiny celebratory dance party.

 

 

“Finn!” His comm crackles to life. “Report to the landing bay immediately. Another shuttle’s arriving.”

“How many?” Finn makes a hasty exit from the lockdown room, mouthing apologies, and starts to run towards the bay.

“Seven.”

“Wearing their armor?”

“Dumped it into space.”

Finn grins. A moment later, he stumbles to a halt on the landing bay beside General Organa, panting. The shuttle’s gangplank hisses open. As the first figures cautiously descend from the ship, Finn spreads his hands wide to greet them. “Welcome to the Resistance.”

 

 

Jess wakes with an agonized groan. Poe jerks upright in his seat, startled out of a short doze. “Jess!” Rey reaches towards her instinctively.

Poe knocks Rey’s hand aside before she can touch her. “Don’t! It’s not going to help. Trust me on this.” He gestures to the commlink in Rey’s lap. “Comm the nurse.”

Jess groans again, tries to move, finds herself cuffed. Her breath chokes off in shock. “Wha—” Her voice drags against her throat and her head falls back against the pillow, limp. “Oh, kriff,” she gasps.

“Jess. Can you hear me?” Poe leans closer, careful not to jar the bed. Jess cries out as the door’s lock opens with a heavy _thunk._ A meddroid glides to Jess’ side, grabs her shoulder and wrist to hold her still, and slides a cool hypo of painkillers into her arm. Jess’ mouth is open, working for air, twisting in pain. Rey’s knuckles are white on the arms of her chair. As the drugs kick in, Jess relaxes a fraction, but no more than that.

“Can’t you give her anything more?” Poe pleads.

“I am sorry, Poe.” The meddroid’s empathy program makes the words sound barely— but only barely— authentic. “This dose is already the maximum safe dose for a human of her age, sex, and size. I will return in four hours to administer a follow-up dose once this has worn off.” It glides out of the room on silent casters, closing and locking the door behind it.

“Jess,” Poe repeats, once the room is quiet again. “Can you hear me?”

“Fuck. You.” Jess whispers.

Poe grins. “Good to have you back, Pava. How’re you doing?”

“Oh, kriff.” Jess whispers again.

“Yeah. I bet. It’ll pass, Jess. It’ll hurt like a bitch until it does, but it’ll pass. Trust me.”

Jess is silent for a moment, trying to breathe around the excruciating pain. “Y’din’t have any painkillers.”

“Yeah. Well. Doesn’t look like they’re working too well for you, so.” Rey’s leg is jiggling silently beside Poe’s chair. She’s biting down hard enough on a knuckle to leave teethmarks for days. “Jess, Rey’s right here. Do you want her to hold your hand?”

“Not sure I have one.” Poe has to lean even closer to hear her. Jess moves her fingers one by one, pulls them into a fist— and feels the shackles again. “Why am I cuffed? Poe, why am I cuffed?” Her voice is one note short of desperate.

“I’m sorry about that, Jess. Believe me, not my choice.”

Jess opens her mouth in an attempt to laugh. “Yeah. You were never really kinky that way.”

Poe grins again. Jess’ chest rises and falls with each pained breath. “Fuck,” she breathes. She can feel another wave of pain building, gathering, coiling in her limbs. “I— _oh kriff oh fuck oh holy fucking rancorspawned banthashit_ —” Her voice cuts off as her body arcs into the pain. Rey’s free hand reaches out behind her to grab Poe’s shoulder with bruising fingers. Poe wraps a hand around her wrist and grips it just as tightly. By the time Jess’ body slumps back down to the mattress, Poe’s back is soaked with sweat. Jess’ breath comes in short, ragged, groans.

Rey’s face is ashen. “It’s not getting better, Poe. You said it would get better.”

“It will. It will, I swear. If this is the same, and it looks like it is.”

“Then how much longer?” Rey snaps.

“I have no idea.”

_“How do you have no idea?”_

“Do you think she can tell how much time is passing? It’s not like there was a chrono in the cell, Rey, I—” Poe flings himself out of the chair and paces around the narrow room like a caged rathtar. He scrubs his hands violently through his hair to get himself back under— no, fuck control. He leans down towards Jess on the other side of the cot. “Jess,” he says, gentle. “Jess. Are you there?”

Jess breathes as though she has been sprinting around the perimeter of the base. Slowly her body starts to relax again. “Not going to die.”

“No.” Poe’s mouth relaxes upwards in relief. “You’re not.”

“Ok. Ok. Oh holy fucking fuck. Ok.” Her eyes gradually ease open again, half-lidded against the light. “Poe.” Her voice is ragged. “How did you stand it?”

Poe shakes his head slowly. _The first time? Just like you did. The hundred time? I think I might have gone mad._ “It will pass, Jess. Really. It will pass.”

Jess’ head bobs in the barest of nods. Her eyes open fully, take in Rey’s. “Ok. Ok. I think I’m ok now. Ok.” She wiggles the fingers of one hand. “Rey?” Rey moves to her side with visible relief and takes her hand. The overwhelming burn of Rey’s touch against her sizzling nerves shorts out Jess’ fragile hold on her sanity for a moment, but she hangs on anyway. Fuck pain.

“Sorry, Poe,” Jess whispers at last.

“What? Why?”

“That it didn’t work. I thought— I really thought—” Jess stops to focus on breathing. Her thoughts ebb and drag around currents of whited-out pain. She can’t hold onto anything resembling coherence for long.

“What do you mean, it didn’t work? Jess— what do you remember?”

Jess’ eyes flick open, close tight against the dimmed lights. “Don’ remember anything.” Sweat glistens on her forehead. “Guess I tried it?” Slowly a few neurons manage to connect. _Fuck!_ she mouths, presses into the pillows by another wave of pain. _Oh holy fucking fuck this hurts this hurts—_

“It’s ok, Jess,” Rey’s voice is calm, quiet. “You’re going to be ok.”

When Jess can breathe again, her thoughts continue to trace themselves around in circles, trying and failing to hold to each other long enough to make any sense. She can feel Rey’s fingertips in hers now. That’s a good sign, right? That’s got to be a good sign. She’s going to take that as a good sign. She can also feel the cuffs on her wrists.

Oh.

It did work.

 _Fuck_.

“What did I do?” Jess’ words are streaked now with an entirely different type of pain. “What did I do?” Her voice rises, edging towards frantic.

“Jess.” Rey probably could have made a living as a rathtar tamer, in another lifetime. “Everyone is all right. Everything is fine. You did really well.”

“It did work, Jess. I think they’re going to clear my name. Because of you.” Poe’s voice is thick.

Jess thinks about this for a moment. “You’re going to owe me for this one, Dameron. You’re going to owe me big time.”

“That’s Commander Dameron to you, Pava.” Poe kicks back in his chair. “Glad to be in your debt. Call it in any time.”

“Oh, I will.” Jess forces her eyes opens again, squints up until she finds Rey swimming blurrily above her. “Rey. Shoulder?”

“It’s fine, Jess. Few more days of bacta patches, no problem.” She smiles. “I hear that’s thanks to your in-flight medical skills?”

“Damn straight.” Jess coughs. “So, cuffs. Off? Now?”

“I commed Dr. Kalonia when you woke up. She said to summon her once you were ready to talk. They just want to ask a bunch of questions— Master Luke, Leia, the intel officers— to make sure you’re back to yourself before they take the cuffs off.”

Jess is silent. “What did I do?” she asks again. If Poe hadn’t flown with her through hundreds of near-death escapes, he might not have noticed the undercurrent of dread in her voice.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Rey asks.

“Talking about it over lunch, I guess? I don’t even remember agreeing to do it. I mean, I remember offering, but I don’t remember actually saying yes.”

Rey’s lips flatten into a hard line. Questions are important. _Yes_ is important. “I’m sorry, Jess! I’m so sorry. You did agree, I promise! We’d never have done it if you hadn’t. The whole experiment was recorded for the trial, so we’ve got a holovid of it if you want to see.”

“ ‘S ok, Rey. I trust you.” Jess convinces her hand to tighten around Rey’s fingers for a moment. The resulting pain does not kill her, so she thinks she might actually be starting to get better. “So what happened after that?”

Rey takes a deep breath and dives in. “So— right. What happened. They injected the drug into you. Finn brainwashed you. It worked. He took you out to the target range and asked you if you wanted to kill Snap. You did. He gave you a blaster and you, uh, well, see, you—”

“Rey.” It’s nothing like her recruit-training tone, but Jess’ voice has gathered a bit more strength over the past few minutes.

“Right. You, uh, you shot at him.”

“I shot him. Wait, what? Shot Snap? That’s ridiculous.”

They’re silent.

“No!” Jess tries to sit up for one idiotic moment before her vision goes white with pain. Gradually she notices the mattress at her back again, Rey’s hand pressing gently against her chest. “That was a dumb move.”

Poe snorts.

“Shut up.” Jess looks back to Rey. “I think you were saying something important. I don’t remember what it was. Oh. The test. Brainwashed. Fuck. And— Snap? I remember you saying I shot Snap, but that can’t be right. What do you mean, I shot Snap?”

“Well, technically, you shot _at_ Snap. He didn’t get hurt. And Jess, he knows it wasn’t you. The real you.”

Jess’ mouth opens and closes. “I shot Snap.”

“It’s ok, Jess! I told you, everyone is fine. Luke stood behind the target and redirected the bullets towards the ground.”

“Ok. Ok. So— that’s good, I guess? That means the test worked.” A sudden thought strikes her. “But wait, I remember talking about how we would need more than one piece of evidence in order to conclude anything. So what else happened?”

Rey and Poe exchange a glance.

Jess narrows her eyes at the two of them. “Look. The moment I get out of here, I will be able to ask someone who knows what happened. And when that person tells me something you two nerfherders left out, I will be _really fucking pissed_. And when I’m _really_ —”

“And then you shot at Leia. Oh,” Rey’s mouth twitches, “oh, and you called her a witch first—”

“I _what_?”

“It’s _ok_ , Jess,” Rey insists. “Everyone knows it wasn’t really you talking. I mean, you also called Snap a hot pile of bantha shit—”

“She _what_?” Poe cracks up with laughter. “Oh, no. Oh, Jess. You are so screwed.”

“But it wasn’t really her, Poe, you can’t—”

Poe looks down at Jess, lips twitching. “Do you want to tell her or should I?”

“Fuck you, Dameron.”

Poe grins at Rey across the cot. “Thing is, that _is_ the real Jess. She’s called Snap a pile of hot bantha shit at least once a week, usually more, for the last two years they’ve been flying together. So the fact that she also called the General a witch…”

Rey presses her free hand against her mouth in an attempt to keep a straight face. It doesn’t work. Her bubbling laugh sends Poe into another fit of hilarity. He collapses back into his seat by Jess’ bed.

“It’s ok, I can wait,” comes Jess’ cool voice. “Before you laugh any harder, Poe, I’d like you to remember that I still hold the highest sparring score out of any of the pilots. I will take you down.”

“Not me, you won’t.” Rey’s still sputtering with laughter.

“Look.” Poe clears his throat and focuses on wiping the laughter off his face. “She’ll understand, Jess. Don’t worry about it. She’s heard far worse.”

Jess snorts. “I know that. It’s not her I’m worried about. It’s you two lunkheads and _everyone else on this fucking base_ who’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

Rey looks down at her again, quite serious. “Not if you don’t want them to. I’d be happy to teach every single one of them a lesson, if you’d like.”

“Rey, I love you.”

Rey grins down at Jess. “I know.”

The room goes silent for a moment as Jess closes her eyes to fight another fierce wave of pain. It’s definitely getting easier. It definitely is. She’ll have to go apologize to Leia. Oh, kriff. But wait— “Was that it?” Jess asks. “That’s only two. Didn’t we talk about three tests?”

Poe looks up at Rey, watchful. Rey stares down at Jess. Jess looks between the two of them, suddenly afraid. “What happened?”

Rey smiles gently. “It’s ok, Jess. The last test was you shooting at me.”

Jess’ face is entirely blank. “The what uh with when the who?”

Rey bites her lip to suppress a laugh. “You didn’t hit me, obviously. I redirected the bullets, same as Luke had.”

“I shot you,” Jess says faintly.

“It wasn’t _you_ , Jess. It’s ok.”

“Ok?” Jess explodes. “I could have killed you!”

Rey gives her a _look_ down the end of her nose. “Jess. We’ve talked about this.”

“Even Jedi make mistakes sometimes!”

Rey raises a pair of elegant brows.

“Ok, fine! You can take care of yourself. But still, Rey, who in Malachor thought that could possibly be a good idea?”

“It showed how strong the drug was.”

“Right.” Jess swallows. “Right. Yeah. Guess— guess it did. So— that was the end of the test?”

“Yeah.” Rey presses Jess’ hand between her own.

“Right.” Jess nods. “Then why are there bruises on your neck?”

Rey blinks.

Carefully, slowly, painstakingly, Jess raises her arms to touch Rey’s neck with the fingers of her free hand. It’s painful, but she doesn’t pass out. Progress, no? It’s hardly more than an Akivan moonshine hangover now. “And why are my arms still cuffed?”

Rey sighs and braces for impact. “You shot at me again. I took your blaster. You ran and tried to choke me. The bruises are my fault, I—I didn’t really believe you’d do it. Stupid. And then talkdown didn’t work. You, uh— you jumped Finn, too. That’s when Leia ordered us to keep you cuffed until she and the rest of the testing team could make sure you were no longer a threat.”

Jess stares back up at Rey. “Is Finn ok?” she asks at last.

“Yeah, he’s fine. He can handle himself, too.”

Rey grins. Jess doesn’t. “Good thing I have friends who can fight back when I try to kill them.”

“Jess, it was an _experiment_. It wasn’t you. Everyone knows that.”

“Do _you?”_ Poe asks softly, gaze fixed on Jess.

“I don’t even remember it,” Jess answers, equally soft. Her eyes snap to Poe’s. “I’m sorry I locked you up on the shuttle.”

Poe shrugs, curls his hands into fists. “Orders. You had to.”

“Fuck orders.” Jess struggles to sit up. She slides a sardonic glance to Rey when her body smoothly slides into position. Jess has made it clear that she actually likes small Force-moves, finds them funny rather than jarring. Rey doesn’t really understand this, but it does make life easier sometimes, especially when reaching for high objects. And the look on Jess’ face never fails to make her laugh. “Bring the team in,” Jess commands. “Let’s get this mission over with.”

Rey picks up the comm. “General Organa? We’re ready for you.” She puts the comm down with a wicked smile. “The witch is coming.”

“Fuck. You.” Jess whacks her with a pair of still-shackled hands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, they liked my writing! Eeeeee! So many notes to think about now. Thanks so much for your encouragement. And everyone in the class was so nice! 
> 
> Comments and concrits, as always, make my day! <3 you all.


	8. halfway between

The courtroom is full again. Poe, buoyed by the success of the experiment and the prospect of resurrecting BB-8, walks proudly in by Finn’s side. Jess, still a little shaky but on her feet again (and uncuffed, thank goodness), walks in hand-in-hand with Rey.

The experimenters’ testimony is largely unnecessary, given that the few Resistance fighters who weren’t in the arena have heard the story several times, from several different angles. The fact that “witch” has not become a joke around the base is proof positive of the depth of their respect for the General.

Hot pile of bantha shit, on the other hand… Snap’s got his hands full. Jess is going to slap some respect back into those who keep repeating the epithet. But she might let it slide for a few days first. And of course, woe betide anyone who even mouths the words “Jedi scum.”

The proceedings are quick: just a summary of the experiment’s results, including a public thanks to Jess for her bravery in trying the drug. Finn escorts Poe out to the hallway one last time, brushes a kiss to his cheek, and hurries back inside. When the metal doors clang shut behind him, it is _very_ quiet in the hallway. Poe stares at his feet.

“Commander Dameron.” It’s Ferin again. Poe looks up. “The base is with you, sir. You’ll be all right.”

Poe holds his gaze for a long time. Finally he nods. “Thank you, Private Ferin.” He smiles crookedly. “It’s an honor to have been guarded by you.”

Ferin’s lips twitch. “It’s an honor to have guarded you, Commander Dameron.”

 

 

Ferin’s comm crackles to life. “Escort the prisoner inside the courtroom.”

“Copy that.” Poe’s stomach flips with cold nausea. Ferin steps forward, unlocks Poe from the wall, marches him into the courtroom, and locks his cuffs onto the podium again. Poe braces his feet shoulder-width apart, clasps his hands together, and wills himself not to show fear.

 _It was easier to stand before Kylo Ren_ , he thinks. In the desert, he could protect his thoughts from the danger by holding onto a chestful of hot anger. Now it is not his body that is under threat, but his place in the galaxy. He is Commander Poe Dameron. He does not have a backup plan.

Leia stands. “Poe.”

_NO._

“You have been accused of one hundred and twenty-seven counts of murder and one count of high treason. Based on the evidence of the flight paths and your own admission that you believe you were flying a TIE-fighter while in the hands of the First Order, this court has ruled that you did, indeed, kill all one hundred and twenty-seven Resistance fighters and sympathizers.”

Poe grips the podium hard enough to break through his skin.

“However, the results of today’s experiment indicate that the drug synthesized from the trace compounds found in your bloodstream is capable of allowing a mind to be brainwashed into a different set of beliefs, strong enough to be willing to kill one’s own people. Due to the drug, this court has ruled that you were unable to control your actions while under the influence of the brainwashing agent. In addition, the circumstances of your captivity indicate that you were unable to escape by any means in order to prevent further deaths from occurring.”

Leia pauses a moment to let this sink in. “Therefore, this court finds you innocent of treason and absolves you of all culpability in the deaths of our Resistance fighters. We would therefore be proud to reinstate you as Starfighter Corps Commander.”

Poe’s head spins.

“However, we understand that the ordeal of your captivity, as well as the lack of trust from your fellow fighters upon your return, may make it difficult for you to resume your military duties. While we would be grieved to see you leave the Resistance, we would understand the necessity. You would be discharged with full honors and given what you need to make a new life for yourself. The choice is entirely up to you. You may take as much time as you require to decide.”

“I— what?” Poe shakes his head. “General Organa.” His voice cracks. “Of course I want to stay. This is my home. You are— you’re all my—” He can’t continue.

Leia’s face cracks into the fullest smile he’s ever seen on her, at least since Starkiller. “I’m glad to hear it. We will be honored to fight beside you again. Welcome back to the Resistance, Commander Dameron.”

Poe’s knees buckle. Only his deathgrip on the podium keeps him upright. Suddenly Finn’s in front of him, fumbling with the lock control. The cuffs fall from his wrists. Finn kisses each wrist, throws his arms around Poe, kisses him fiercely. Poe can’t remember how to move his body. His arms rise hesitantly, wrap around Finn, grab onto the muscles of his back to pull him close. He tastes salt, he must be crying, or maybe that’s Finn, or maybe both of them, his ears are ringing, or maybe that’s real noise? Poe breaks off from Finn to face the courtroom.

Everyone is standing.

His friends, his pilots, his comrades-in-arms— everyone on the base is clapping, cheering, laughing, shouting his name in a thunderous tumult of welcome. Poe looks from face to face, mouth open, stunned into silence. Finn watches, mesmerized, as Poe drinks in the trust and the welcome and the love of his fellow fighters. Watches as Poe’s body slowly transform from prisoner to free man to commander. As Poe’s gaunt, pale face slowly rekindles. As his dark eyes ignite with an incandescent fire.

Poe nods to the crowd and salutes. They cheer even louder. Poe turns back towards Finn. He flings his uncuffed arms out wide, wider, and pulls Finn into a fierce kiss.

Home at last.

 

 

The courtroom empties slowly, slowly, as everyone mobs Poe to shake hands, clap him on the back, welcome him home, wish him well. It’s a lovely parade, but towards the end of it Poe’s words are starting to cool in his mouth. _No, you didn’t always believe in me,_ he wants to say. _You put me on trial_. _And_ you _, I watched you testify against me._ He understands suddenly why Leia had offered him a way out. Can he fight alongside those who believed him a traitor?

Not easily. But he’d rather be here with them, fighting for peace and justice, than anywhere else in the universe. And if they’ve decided to try to trust him again, then he can try to do the same.

Snap grabs him in for a bear hug. “Thank goodness you’re back, Commander.” His dark eyes laugh at Poe under a full head of black curls.

“Thanks for volunteering for the experiment, Snap. Are you—”

“Oh yeah. I’m fine. Except for, you know—”

“Hot—”

“Yeah. That. But honestly, I’m glad it’s me they’re teasing and not her for, you know—”

“Shooting at everyone.”

“Yeah. That.” Snap sighs and scrubs a hand through his beard. “Well. I’m going to have a few words with Jess tonight. Between her right hook and my death glare, we’ll straighten everyone out.”

Poe laughs, but sobers quickly. “And Snap, thanks for— I saw the memorial—”

“Poe.” Snap claps a large hand on his shoulder. “Don’t go thinking you’re something special, ok? I’d do the same for anyone in the fleet. Your head gets any bigger, it won’t fit inside the cockpit. Speaking of which, if you’re up for it, we’re going to start searching for a replacement for _Black One_ tomorrow morning at 0700. I think you’re probably going to be grounded still, at least level two, but keep an eye on your comm. We’ll send you holos and stats for anything that looks promising.”

“ _Thanks_ , Snap. Again. And—” Poe hesitates.

Snap waits him out, a rogue grin hovering around his lips. Poe sighs and rubs his temple. Finally he faces Snap again, uncomfortable. “Leia promoted you in my absence. I don’t—”

Snap raises his brows, grin settling further into place.

“Do you—” Poe raises his hands in frustration and finally just blurts it out. “I don’t want to cause a rift between us. But I also intend to return as Commander. I’m not sure that’s a thing that can be shared, or—”

“Poe.” Snap’s grin broadens further. “Thanks so much for offering. Or almost offering. Or not really offering. But still. Really. I appreciate the thought. Yes, I’m ok with going back to being a squadron leader. Look, it was fun for a day or two, I like the helmet and the jacket and the front seat in mission control and the scared faces when I walk into a room. But you’re the commander, Poe.” His voice drops, serious. “You’ve earned it. Many times over. And anyway,” he snorts, “I don’t know how you keep all of those flight schematics in your head at the same time. One squadron, sure, but an entire fleet? I’ve been going nuts trying to keep up. I’ll be glad to repaint my ship back to _Blue One_.”

Poe clasps Snap by the shoulders, tilts his head up to look Snap in the eye. “Thank you, Snap. _Thank you._ ”

“How many ‘thank-you’s' is that by now, four? I’m sure you’ll find a way to make them all up to me. Maybe start with some nice missions to Coruscant, time for a day or two of R&R in their nightclubs before returning to base.”

Poe laughs. “I’ll keep it in mind, Snap. Glad to be back in action with you.”

“You too, Dameron.” Snap claps his friend on the back.

As Snap walks on across the courtroom, Poe’s surprised by a flying leap from Jessika. She stops short just shy of actually tackling him, suddenly afraid he’ll topple over if she jumps him. “I’ll be thinking about what you can do to pay me back, Dameron. Don’t think I’ll forget about it.”

Poe’s broad grin matches hers. “Oh, I’m sure you won’t. And I’m quite sure you deserve it, Pava.” He holds her eyes with his for a moment, serious again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jess replies with equal solemnity, then whacks his arm. “But if you get sappy on me again, Dameron, I will hurt you.”

“Noted.” Poe grins at her.

Rey joins them, cutting her eyes at Jess. “Did you just hit him?”

“Maybe.”

“Jess.”

“He deserved it.”

Rey eyes Poe. “Did you?”

Poe shrugs. “Probably.”

“Definitely.”

“Jess, you’re impossible.”

Jess raises her brows at Poe. “Would you like everyone to be very gentle around you and take great care not to hurt you?”

Poe levels a pair of mock dagger eyes at her. “Pava, you know damn well—”

Jess flashes a bright grin at Rey. “See, Rey, you just haven’t known this guy as long as I have. Stick around a few more years, you’ll figure it out.” She waves a cheeky hand at the two of them before joining the crowd filing slowly out of the courtroom.

Rey turns to Poe. “Well, I was going to say that the clearing is probably a bit too far of a walk for tomorrow morning, but—”

Poe laughs. “No, you’re right. I’d rather not get the pity eye, but I’m not delusional. Or at least not _very_ delusional. I’m also not sure if they’ll even let me out of the medbay tomorrow. But I’d love to meditate with you for a bit, when I can.”

Rey’s face lights up. “Good. Comm me when you’re up for it, then. I’ll be training in the morning.”

“All right, then. And Rey—” Poe reaches a hand towards her. She takes it. “ _Thank you._ For—the rescue, for the test, for—for everything. You took care of Finn while— while. Didn’t you?”

“Only via holocall.”

“Still.”

Rey laughs suddenly. “I would say I’d be happy to do it again anytime, but I wouldn’t, I _really_ wouldn’t, Poe, could you maybe try not to get yourself fucking captured again!”

Poe’s eyes widen. It’s rare to find such a vehement sentence, with a curse no less, in Rey’s mouth. “I—yeah. Yeah, Rey. I’ll do my best.”

Rey nods, relaxed again. “Good. Now—” Her mouth quirks at the edges, wicked. “I have some things to discuss with a few of the officers.”

Poe’s not quite sure why the things involve checking a small datapad in her pocket, picking out a particular officer from the crowd, and pulling him out of the courtroom behind her, hissing intently in his ear, but he’s not going to argue. And it doesn’t escape his notice that the officer is one of those who testified against him. _I have the best friends in the galaxy,_ he thinks _. The absolute best._

 _Force_ , he missed them.

 

 

Leia’s the last to leave the courtroom. He turns to her reluctantly, still not sure he can face her without showing his residual fury.

“General Organa.” He nods to her. “Thank you. For ruling in my favor. For reinstating me as commander. For allowing the rescue mission to go out in the first place.”

Leia folds her arms across her chest and looks him up and down. “Dameron. You’re welcome.” She pauses. “I’m sorry about the trial. And the cuffs.”

“It’s fine, General. I understand.”

“No, you don’t.” Leia smiles crookedly. “Nerfherder. I don’t think you’ll ever learn how to lie convincingly. No, no, it’s a good thing!” She waves a hand over his protests. “But if you can’t lie, Poe, then you ought to be honest with me. You’re furious about the trial. And the cuffs. That’s not a Force thing; that’s your face being an unencrypted transmission.”

Leia’s face slides into a crooked half-smile before she continues, serious. “Poe. This trial was just as real, and just as fake, as the last one. The base needed to see the evidence from the drug in order to trust you again. _You_ needed to be officially absolved of your culpability in the deaths. We all needed to come to an official conclusion on your status, both in order to reinstate you as Starfighter Corps Commander and to reduce the likelihood of you finding a knife in your back on some dark night.”

Leia takes his arm with a gentle hand. “And,” she presses on, “I wanted to give you an honorable out. I really wasn’t sure you would be able to return to us, after this.” She can feel the empty space between his sleeve and his skin. “Keep in mind that you have as much time as you need to recover. And that my offer will always stand, should recovery prove too difficult. But, Poe—” Her gaze holds him still. “I have no doubt you’ll heal from this in due time. There are many people here who love you. You have always been one of us, and you always will be. The trial just made it official again.”

Leia smiles again, pats him on the shoulder, and turns to leave. On her way out, she adds over her shoulder, “Oh, and you’re level two grounded until cleared by medbay. If I hear you’ve gone off-planet before then, I will be royally pissed. You’re welcome for not grounding you completely— in the condition you’re in, I probably should have. Once you’re cleared to fly and back in fighting condition, you can choose to return to active duty at any time. Or not, as you choose. Clear?”

Poe salutes automatically. “Yes, General.”

Leia’s face breaks into a relieved grin. “It’s good to have you back, Commander Dameron.”

 

 

He and Finn are the only ones left in the courtroom now. Poe stands there for a long moment, trying and failing to wrap his head around Leia’s words. The trial. The memory of everyone cheering his name, rushing to hug him, welcoming him back to the base.

In the past 48 hours, he’s been a prisoner of the First Order, of his rescuing friends, of the Resistance. He’s been treated by doctors and discussed in court and consulted on how to run an experiment. He’s watched his best friend endure, surrounded by friends, what he had to endure for months alone in a cell. He’s been restored as Commander, as a full member of the Resistance, as a free man. His mind spirals around the last part, unsure what to do with it. Being home, being him. It’s such a foreign thing.

“Poe?” Finn’s hesitant voice breaks through his thoughts. Poe slowly turns to him, takes in his lover’s familiar form. He reaches his hand out, touches Finn’s arm, wraps his fingers around it, steps closer, slides his arm down to Finn’s waist, cups the other hand around the back of Finn’s neck. It’s so strange, so right. His body is here. He’s not quite sure where his mind is. Maybe halfway between, lost in deep dark space.

Finn waits, silent. Poe closes his eyes and touches his lips to Finn’s, sucks Finn’s tongue into his mouth, feels the connections between their bodies start to hum. Chest, hips, knees knocking against each other, teeth biting lips, shoulders pressed in tight, hands grabbing muscles, thigh between Finn’s. Rough touches to ground him back into his home. To prove he here, he is strong, he is not breakable.

Finn, surprised at the fierce urgency in Poe’s movements, takes a moment to follow his cue. But then his hands are sinking into Poe’s hair, gripping it tightly, pulling hard enough to make Poe’s breath come short. Finn laughs against his mouth as Poe’s leg comes up to wrap around their waists. Reluctantly he breaks off, sweeps Poe’s hair back from his forehead. “Careful, hey. If we keep going with what you’re trying to do here, I’m going to end up having to carry you back to the medbay.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine, come on.” Poe’s eyes are overbright with need. But it’s not just a need for touch, even for sex, and they both know that.

Finn leans his forehead against Poe’s. “This isn’t going to fix anything,” he whispers.

“Didn’t ask you to fix anything,” Poe whispers back. “Didn’t ask you to treat me like I’m going to break if you touch me too hard. I’m asking you, right now, to fuck me.”

Finn’s head pulls back from Poe’s, eyes round. It’s a moment before he can respond coherently. “That is an offer I will never pass up. But first we’re going back to our room—”

“Oh,” Poe says, looking around at the empty courtroom. “Right.”

“—and then you’re lying down on the bed before you fall down, because you actually did nearly collapse twice on our way here. Which suggests to me that you are not likely to be able to handle any kind of serious action. But—” Finn runs his tongue between his teeth. “I think we’ll figure something out. Oh, _Poe_.” He drops his head to Poe’s shoulder. “You’re alive. You’re back. It’s over. It’s ok now. I can’t—”

“ _You_ can’t? Two days ago I was trapped and alone, trying to die, knowing that—Finn—I’m not going to be ok for a long time, you know that, right?” Poe’s voice ends an octave up from where he started.

“I know that, Poe.” Finn frames Poe’s face in his hands. “That’s ok. There’s no hurry. Take as long as you need. Forever. And whatever isn’t going to be ok, even with time—that’s ok too. You’re here. You’re alive. I don’t give a _fuck_ about anything else,” Finn growls.

“Fucking. Right.” Poe’s talking too fast, avoiding the burn in the back of his throat. He’s not going to cry, not now, not when he’s finally back in the world of the living. “You promised. Let’s go. Why are we still talking here?”

“Ok, Poe, _ok_ ,” Finn laughs. He slides half-out of their embrace, one arm still slung around Poe’s waist. “We’re going to our room. We’re not going to cry. We’re not going to talk. We’re going to fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just give you a reason to look forward to Monday?
> 
> Oh, you bet I did. O_O
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (And here's the epigraph — I put it at the end of this chapter to avoid spoilers. I'm starting to think Catullus may have read this fic in my mind before I even wrote it...)
> 
>  _uenistine domum ad tuos penates_  
>        _fratresque unanimos anumque matrem?_  
>  _uenisti. o mihi nuntii beati!_  
>        _uisam te incolumem._
> 
> have you then come to your own hearth  
>       and your affectionate brothers and aged mother?  
> You have indeed. O joyful news to me!  
>       I shall look upon you safe returned.  
> — Catullus 9


	9. this is real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _applicansque collum_   
>  _iucundum os oculosque suauiabor._   
>  _o quantum est hominum beatiorum,_   
>  _quid me laetius est beatiusue?_
> 
>  
> 
> and drawing your neck nearer to me  
>       I shall kiss your beloved mouth and eyes.  
> O, of all men blest than other,  
>       who is more glad, more blest than I?  
> — Catullus 9

 

Poe does, indeed, nearly collapse on the way to their room. But only once. Small victories, right? When he’s finally inside their threshold, he stops short for a moment to look around the familiar-yet-unfamiliar quarters. His stomach flips as his eyes pass over the desk, where his helmet sits, framed by holos of him, a small candle flickering in front. “I’ll—I’ll take it down now,” Finn coughs.

Poe turns and catches Finn’s face in his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Finn snorts. “For what?”

“For being dead.” Poe’s not really kidding. He pulls Finn towards him, nests his face in Finn’s neck. “I’ll try not to do that again,” he murmurs, voice muffled against Finn’s warm skin.

“Nerfherder,” Finn laughs, but his voice catches in his throat. He pushes Poe into the room, shuts the door behind them, and leans against it for a moment, breathing.

Poe blocks Finn before his lover moves to dismantle the small shrine. “Has to be the one who’s not actually dead.” Poe blows the candle out with a soft puff of air, flicks off the holos— _Force, this is so weird_ —and slides the helmet onto a shelf in the closet to take out to his hangar locker later. His clothes still hang in the closet, as disorganized as the day he left for that rathtarfucked mission. Is that little box still hidden in the furthest corner? He hopes so.

Poe turns back to Finn. Their eyes meet for one smouldering second before his hands are navigating their quick way down the buttons of Finn’s dress uniform. Finn’s hands grab Poe’s waist, tug at the hem of his shirt. He knocks Poe’s hands from his front for a moment so he can pull the pale medbay linen up and over Poe’s head, baring his chest to the dim light of their bunk.

Hands on flies. Drawstrings untied. Clothes flung into corners. Shoes kicked aside. Poe grinds against Finn, rocking his hips into the warm flush between their bodies. Finn presses forward until the backs of Poe’s knees hit the edge of the mattress. Poe tumbles down onto the bed and rolls onto his side to face Finn, hands tucked behind his head, one knee propped up suggestively.

Finn stops short for a moment. His gut clenches as he takes in his lover’s familiar-yet-unfamiliar naked body—battered and bandaged and shrunken and pale, but well-formed and graceful as ever, and—and—and just fucking _Finn’s_ , no matter what happens, anchored to him in a way he’s not sure he’ll ever really understand. Finn wants to blast the First Order to the ground for what they did to Poe. He wants to wrap Poe up in his arms and flee to a distant planet where they can live in safety and peace for the rest of their lives. He wants to fuck Poe, hard, now.

Poe’s eyes flicker as Finn’s gaze passes over him, seeing himself through Finn’s eyes, suddenly self-conscious and horribly afraid. “I—”

“Don’t.” Finn interrupts. “Whatever you were going to say. It was bad. The look in your eyes now, also bad. Poe.” His throat is tight. Finn blinks fast, trying to ward off his tears. “You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful, Poe. Always. I—”

“Fucking. Now. Why are you standing all the way over there?” Poe stretches a weary hand towards Finn.

“Right,” Finn gulps. “Right. Fucking. Ok. Right. Yeah.” _Force,_ he’s hard. Poe’s glance slips downward. He bites his lip.

And oh, the lip bite.

Finn tackles Poe so he won’t cry for real, because once he starts he’s not sure he’s ever going to stop and that would really ruin the mood, which would be really bad because Poe’s right here beneath him, beside him, grabbing on tight to his arms, sucking at his lips and neck and jaw and _nipple,_ taking Finn’s ass in his hands and pulling their bodies close. Finn can tell by the way Poe leans against him, breathing hard, that he’s not likely to be up for anything that requires actually moving his body. Probably not even anything that involves staying awake for more than fifteen minutes.

Finn’s hands pass lightly over Poe’s sides, not wanting to grip too hard, to hurt. Poe growls and _shoves_ against Finn. “Fuck me _hard_ , Finn. I’m not going to break. Tell me I’m here. Tell me this is real,” and the hitch in his voice tells Finn he’s not the only one fighting back tears.

“This is real, Poe. You’re here,” and Finn’s eyes are burning now with the need to cry, but he can’t cry now, he’s going to ruin the moment, he can’t cry now, so he kisses Poe instead, licking deep into his mouth. He grips Poe’s shoulders between his hands, horribly conscious of the bones beneath his grasp, far closer to the skin than they should be. Finn lowers his head to Poe’s nipple, sucks, _bites_ , until Poe gasps, hand clenching on Finn’s ass. Poe’s hips rock against Finn’s, hard and urgent.

“Finn _. Finn._ ” Poe breathes in his ear, eyes dark with desire. “ _Finn, please.”_

Finn blinks at him for a moment, incoherent. His brain is in his balls? Brain. Brain! Finn picks his head up from Poe’s chest and reaches out to find a bottle of lube. There’s none on the bedside table anymore, hurt too much to have to look at it every morning, hasn’t wanted to touch his own skin—who would he think about? whose name would he moan? And why didn’t he take the bottle out of the closet a moment ago before getting into bed? Poor planning. _Where is it?_ Ah.

Finn drops back to the bed beside a quietly giggling Poe, who pulls him in for a swift kiss on the nose. “Do you know how cute you look when you’re frustrated? I missed that.”

“I missed the way you make fun of me when I do nice things for you,” Finn retorts. “Really sets up a nice romantic atmosphere.”

“I don’t think you need any help from a romantic atmosphere right now.” Poe quirks an eyebrow at Finn’s erection, smug.

“Nerfherder,” Finn mutters. “Just for that—” He slides down between Poe’s legs, spreads his thighs apart, and presses one slick finger against his rim.

Poe’s body stills completely, eyes wide, mouth parted. Finn slides in slowly, slowly, waiting for Poe to relax as each burn gives way to pleasure. Finn curls his finger, grinning wickedly as Poe’s legs suddenly jerk. _Jackpot_.

“More,” Poe breathes, eyes closed, head back, face flushed. “Oh, Force. _More_.”

Finn strokes him again, in, out, slides, presses _right there_ , goes a little bit dizzy from the feel of Poe’s warm flesh clenching around his finger. Carefully Finn adds another finger, scissors gently, but Poe’s too tense right now for anything more than two fingers—and, despite Poe’s insistence, Finn’s pretty sure he is breakable at the moment.

Finn’s mind flashes for a moment to a vivid image of them last year, roles reversed, Poe reaching _inside him_ for the first time. Fingers gentle and coaxing in his body, careful not to add too much too fast. _Oh, kriff._ Poe’s grinding down onto his fingers now, breath hitching with need. Finn curls his fingers again, again, again, _pressing_ and _pressing_ as Poe gasps and jerks beneath him.

“Oh, Finn, Finn, _fuck_ , Finn—” Poe’s hands clutch at Finn’s shoulders, breathless, overwhelmed with sensation. Finn takes that as an invitation to slide his mouth down onto Poe’s cock. His mouth and fingers work Poe in tandem—in, out, up, down, his mind slips sideways as Poe moans louder and louder. Finn’s tongue flicks over the slit, glides up the underside, darts down to taste the musk of Poe’s balls. He relaxes his throat and swallows Poe down until his lips are closing over the root and he’s _sucking, sucking,_ and Poe’s hips jerk with a strangled cry.

“Wait.” Poe’s fingers tangle in Finn’s tight curls to stop his movements. “C’mere,” he gasps, voice rough with desire. “I want to touch you.”

Finn’s brain shorts out for a moment at the words. By the time it restarts, Poe’s laughing at him softly, face lit with desire. “You’re doing it again…” Finn warns.

“Oh, but the look on your face, _kriff—”_ Poe runs his tongue over his bottom lip, sending the rest of Finn’s blood straight down to his groin again. Poe presses his face into the pillow to stifle another peal of laughter.

Finn gives up on ever being able to form a coherent sentence again. He licks a long stripe up the inside of Poe’s thigh in revenge, just to hear his lover’s sudden inhale. Laughing to himself, Finn finally reverses his position on the bed, carefully extending his legs down beside Poe’s torso. Poe slides down to meet him halfway, rolls up on his elbow to face Finn, and presses a line of kisses along his lover’s thighs as Finn eases into place.

Finn looks down the bed at him for a moment, admiring the way the room’s low lights and shadows play across Poe’s features. Stark lines of pain still slash across his face, but they’re fainter now, tangled with the beloved crinkling of his eyes. His curls sweep haphazardly over his forehead, dark stubble roughens his jaw, the sharp angle of his clavicle is outlined in gold. Finn’s lost again in wonder, unable to believe it. _Four days ago you were dead,_ he thinks. _Two days ago you were trapped there. Now—_

_Now you’re home again. Now you’re mine._

“Like what you see?” Poe murmurs.

“Nah,” Finn drawls, blinking against stinging eyes. “You look even worse than when you sat by my bed for days after Starkiller. And that’s saying something.”

There’s a wicked glint in Poe’s eyes. “Pretty sure I remember you saying I looked like bantha shit then.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Finn licks another smooth stroke up Poe’s inner thigh, cackling to himself at Poe’s stifled gasp. “Then, you looked like _fresh_ bantha shit. Now?” He loses the breath to speak when Poe runs a warm hand up, down, and around Finn's achingly hard erection. “Now—” Finn tries again, voice strangled. “Now—”

Poe looks down at him again, grinning like a maniac. “Yes?”

“ _Oh, kriff_ ,” is all Finn manages.

“That’ll teach you to try to insult me.” Poe breaks into full-throated laughter at the look on Finn’s face, burying his head in his shoulder for a moment to catch himself. When he looks back up at last, Finn’s ready for Poe to take another crack at his expense in revenge. He’s not ready for Poe’s hot wet mouth to slide down onto his cock.

 _Oh, kriff, that mouth._ Finn’s head falls back for a moment, dazed. It’s a few moments before he can see straight again. When he does, Poe’s eyes flick down under his lashes to meet Finn’s, hooded with desire, mouth stretched red-lipped around Finn’s cock. Finn groans at the sight, feels his cock jerk with a spurt of precome. Poe’s eyes crinkle, gleeful, before closing in tight, blissful focus.

It’s _much_ harder to concentrate on his movements with Poe’s lips—with Poe’s tongue— _oh, kriff._ Finn‘s not really sure how he manages to lower his own mouth back down onto Poe’s cock, because _oh_ _kriff_ Poe’s mouth is a miracle, slickness and warmth and in and out and _oh, kriff_ , is his brain even functioning right now? because his fingers are inside Poe and his mouth is on Poe’s cock and Poe’s mouth is on his and he’s not even sure where he ends and Poe begins, whose body is whose now? and does it even matter because _oh_ _Force_ this is incredible, or maybe that’s what Poe is thinking, _oh,_ _Force, Finn,_ over and over and over again, and Finn melts into the heat between their bodies and the coil of pleasure is tightening, tightening, a warm flush, an overwhelming surge, and Poe’s hips are bucking up into Finn’s mouth, motions stuttering as he comes, and Finn swallows, swallows, his mouth full of bitter and salty and _Poe_ , then Poe’s sucking down hard on Finn’s cock, _oh kriff,_ pulling, _pulling_ , deep in his throat, _oh kriff,_ a trip-switch in Finn’s balls flicks to _pleasure oh kriff pleasure_ and Finn’s vision whites out entirely.

When Finn finally comes to, breathing hard, Poe’s collapsed over his lower half. Finn’s about to scramble up to check for a pulse when he feels a lazy hand rubbing circles into his thigh. Poe looks down to meet his gaze, eyes hooded and dark.

“Not my best technique,” Finn manages. Force, he sounds wrecked.

“Buddy,” Poe rasps, equally debauched. “Buddy.” His head tips back onto the mattress, eyes closed. “Y’incredible. Always. Y’have no idea. _Force_.” Words are hard. “C’mere, you.” Finn crawls back around to the head of the bed as Poe shifts himself upwards, collapsing onto the pillow. When their bodies finally settle into each other again, Poe hums deep in his throat, content. Finn nuzzles into Poe’s shoulder, lays a hand on his lover’s chest to feel his heartbeat. They lie there together, still, breathing, settling back into a life with each other.

Poe is, for the moment, completely at peace. He loves this moment, when they’re separate again, but not really— he’s still as _aware_ of Finn’s body as he is of his own. The _safety_ he feels, in Finn’s arms—like nowhere else in the galaxy. “Love you, Finn.” His breath is warm on Finn’s hand.

Poe can hardly hear his own words, but Finn must catch them, because his hand presses against Poe’s chest for a moment. “Love you too, Poe,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” Poe whispers. “For rescuing me. _Thank you_.”

“Poe.” Finn picks his head up from the pillow. “Of course. Of _course_ , are you crazy? There is no way, no way in any galaxy in the universe, that I wouldn’t come after you to haul your sorry, skinny ass out of those sadistic psychopaths’ clutches.”

“I think that might the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Poe says, a little dazed.

“Nerfherder.” Finn nudges Poe’s shoulder with his nose.

“Except for that crack about my ass. It’s a nice ass, it’s a very nice ass, you’ve admired it many times—”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t a nice ass. It’s a great ass. However, it is, at the moment, along with the rest of you, ridiculously skinny. We’re going to start working on that tomorrow. I can count your ribs.”

“Yeah,” Poe sighs. “Really not a great look for me. Shit, I was supposed to go back to the medbay. You don’t think they’re going to come after me, are they?”

Finn sighs. “I hope not. I don’t plan on moving anytime soon. General Organa put me on on-base training duty, no combat missions, for two weeks, can you believe it?”

“Huh. Two weeks. Any plans?”

“Number one: stare at your face. Number two: fuck you any time you want me to. Number three: make sure you eat and drink and sleep and walk around and take whatever medicine they want you to take and see whatever psytechs they want you to see. Number four—” Finn stops. _Tell you I love you as many times as I possibly can without sounding crazy. Ok, maybe a little crazy. But not_ too _crazy._

“Yeah.” Poe turns to stroke his cheek, large dark eyes startlingly close to Finn’s. “Whatever number four was. I like it.”

Finn grins. “Good. Me too. I love you. Now go to sleep before Dr. Kalonia bashes down the door.”

 

 

“Iolo. Iolo! No, no, _no! IOLO!”_

“Poe! Wake up, Poe. Poe!”

 

 

Poe’s shaking Finn awake. “Tell me this is real. Tell me this is real. Finn!” He beats his fists on Finn’s shoulder.

Finn catches his hands, kisses them blearily. “This is real, Poe.” His voice drags against his throat. “This is real. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re free. I’ve got you.” Poe closes his eyes, shudders against Finn’s broad chest. “I’ve got you, Poe. I love you. This is real.”


	10. all of it, together, at once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _quo desiderio ueteres renouamus amores_  
>  _atque olim missas flemus amicitias,_  
> 
> the grief and regret with which we make our old loves live again,  
>       and weep for long-lost friendships,  
> — Catullus 96
> 
> ***TW for references to suicidal thoughts

 

No one bashes down the door. By the time Poe wakes up again, the sun is already filling their room with warm golden rays. Poe blinks. Finn’s eyes are inches from his, large and liquid and deep warm brown.

“Good morning,” Finn whispers.

Poe blinks again. Without any warning he breaks down entirely into violent, wrenching, tears. He’s only dimly aware of Finn gripping him tightly, stroking his back, murmuring soothing noises in his ear. He just—he can’t—he was—the cell—Iolo—recruits—helmets, and armor, and walls, and—and Finn, and—the trial, and Jess, oh Force, her pain—and Commander, and shackles, and the shrine, and BB-8—and oh Force, this can’t be real, this can’t be real—

“This is real, Poe. You’re safe now.” Finn’s voice rumbles in his chest.

“No—no—I can’t—Finn, I can’t—” Poe doesn’t even have words anymore. There’s a deep, dark part of his brain that longs for restraints and four metal walls. He pulls away from it, sickened, but it’s still there, it’s following him, no, he’s free now, but he’s not free, he can’t be—

“It’s ok, Poe. You’re home now! You’re free. You’re safe. You’ll be ok.”

Poe’s head shakes back and forth, _no, no, no—_ “Nothing makes sense, Finn,” he whispers. “Nothing. Nothing. I—” There are calluses on his fingers. Abrasions on his wrists. Bacta and bandages and _oh Force, Finn_ , “I can’t do this, I can’t do this—”

“Poe!” Finn crushes Poe’s head to his chest to muffle his words. He’s shaking nearly as hard as Poe is. “Poe. _Listen to me._ Ok? Number one. This _is_ real.”

Poe’s still shaking.

“Number two. It’s ok that it doesn’t feel real yet.” Finn’s voice cracks. “It—it was a long time, Poe. A long time. It’ll take a long time to come back from it. But—number three: _You will come back from this._ You have to keep believing that, Poe _._ For as long as it takes. _You have to keep believing it._ Ok?”

Poe’s still shaking. Slowly, slowly, he starts to relax, hands trembling, face slick with tears. Finn rubs small circles into his back, breathing with him, waiting, quiet.

“How long did it take you?” Poe asks at last, hoarse. “After Starkiller.” He pulls his head back from Finn’s chest to see his face.

Finn blinks at Poe, startled. “Still not sure it feels real yet,” he answers at last, voice thick. There’s something lost and floating in Finn’s gaze, an asteroid unmoored in space—then Finn shrugs and it’s gone, replaced by a lopsided smile. “Two months, maybe? To feel like this was normal, at least. If not completely real, still. You helped.” It’s a broad grin now. “You helped a _lot_.”

Poe raises one brow. “If I remember correctly, two months was when we—”

“Mmm-hmm.” And the grin slides smoothly into a leer.

Poe sighs and runs a finger down Finn’s cheek. “This is real?”

“ _Very_ real.”

Poe nods, throat tight. “I’ll get there.” He nods again, firmer. “I will. I think. I—I’ll try.”

Finn’s eyelids lower, snarky. “You know, Luke’s got a thing about saying stuff like that. Something about not trying, I think, but his grammar’s a little off. Probably from growing up on a desert junkyard like Tatooine. You’ll have to ask him about it someday.”

Poe laughs, and laughs, and laughs. Someday Poe will explain it to Finn. Or not.

 

 

When Finn emerges from the fresher, hair still damp, Poe’s sitting on the edge of the bed, one boot already tied. His eyes are sharp on Finn’s. “You’re going to talk to a psytech, too.”

Finn stops, halfway across the bunk. “Yeah. I will.”

“Good.” Poe nods. “Because, ah—” He rubs the back of his neck. “This is going to keep happening. I think. Flipping out, I mean. Feeling like this isn’t real.”

Finn shrugs. “‘S ok, Poe.”

“Still.”

“I know. I’ll go.”

 

 

By the time Rey joins him, the sun’s blasting almost straight down onto Poe’s pile of tools, rags, and droid parts. Her shadow is the only thing that alerts him to her quiet presence. He looks up, squinting against the bright sunshine.

Rey holds up a container of soup and a water pak. Poe scowls. “I went to ask Dr. Kalonia where you were, and she said she’d only tell me if I promised to make you eat and drink these. Don’t make me break a promise.”

Poe sighs and takes them from her. “Thanks, Rey.” The water is welcome, actually, cool on his tongue. And ok, he might have been getting a little hungry. Actually, he’s a little embarrassed at how grateful he is for the soup.

Rey’s eyes are steady on him. “I know what it’s like to have been starving, ok? Don’t worry about it. You’ll feel ok again eventually.”

Poe snorts, looks down at his hands. “Right. I hear that a lot these days. How’d you find me out here, anyway?”

“Dr. Kalonia said you’d gone looking for Finn, and Finn said you’d gone to work on BB. You could keep your comm on, you know.”

Poe looks at it, silent on his wrist, and shrugs. “I could.”

Rey grins and settles down across the pile from him, cross-legged. “Master Luke let me go for a few hours. Can I help?”

Poe laughs. “Force, you’re crazy about this little guy.” He picks up his pliers and resumes his work, carefully fitting one circuit into its neighbor. The moment he’s done, however, the pliers waft gently out of his grip and settle into Rey’s open palm.

Poe crosses his arms across his chest. “Blackmail, huh?”

Rey smiles peacefully.

“You’re impossible. Here.” Poe points to a mostly-smoothed out piece of BB’s hull and a clean rag. “You can keep cleaning him. You were doing an ok job yesterday.”

“‘Ok,’ huh?”

“You were doing an _excellent splendid fantastic_ job, Rey, can I please have my pliers back?”

They’re in his hand. The durasteel plate and the rag are in her hands. “All this power,” Poe grumbles. “It’s starting to go to your head, you know.”

“It’s always been in my head. Yours, too. It’s in everything, the Force, it’s—”

“Rey.”

She grins, insouciant.

Poe laughs and gets back to work.

 

 

“It just doesn’t seem real,” Poe whispers. He’s bent over double in the psytech’s narrow chair, head in his hands. “Everything is fine. My body knows what to do, I go through the day, I talk to everyone, I laugh, it’s fine but it’s _not_ , doctor, it’s not fine at all. I keep getting these flashes of— of being back in the cell, of being so alone—” His throat closes.

“What do you do when that happens?” Dr. Eila asks, voice soft.

Poe takes a moment to gather himself before he responds. “I don’t know. It depends. If I’m with Finn, he usually notices—” Poe snorts. “I don’t think I’m the most subtle person. He’ll say ‘this is real,’ or something along those lines, and that usually helps. At least enough to go on. Rey does the same— I think she can sense, sometimes, when I’m starting to lose it. Jess helps too, although she uses similar tactics when comforting a friend and strafing a star destroyer. But—” He shrugs. “Sometimes that’s what I need.”

“And when you’re alone?”

Poe looks at his hands. “Cry. Scream. Punch something. Curl up into a ball in the corner of the room. Breathe.”

“Do any of those help?”

Poe snorts. “Yeah. Yeah, they do. Sometimes, at least. But sometimes— sometimes it's just too hard to come out of it. To find the real world again. I—” He scrubs his fingers violently through his hair. “I spent six months wanting to die,” he continues, hoarse. “And now I’m supposed to live, and everything’s great, it’s great, it really is, but there’s a part of my brain—a large part—that doesn’t believe it. Any of this. That still expects to wake up in that cell, trapped again, blinded by pain, knowing I’m killing—”

Poe punches his fist into his palm, over and over, over and over. “I spent six months wanting to die,” he repeats. Dr. Eila has to lean in close across the table to hear his faint words. “Not because I wanted to die, but because I wanted to stop killing—killing—killing my friends.” Poe swallows, rough. “I wanted to _live_ , doctor. I wanted to live so badly,” and he’s crying now, heels of his hands pressed tight against his eyes. “I wanted to come home, and see Finn again, and fly, and talk to BB-8, and blast the _fucking_ First Order into _fucking_ deep space, I wanted to _live_ , doctor, I wanted to live, but I knew I had to die to protect everyone else. I—” He can’t talk anymore. “I can’t—” Poe drags in a shuddering breath. “Sometimes I still—”

He snaps violently up out of his chair, paces the small room. It’s too small. Too square. Four walls. Window. He stops by the window, looks out, desperately tries to put himself back together again. He’s tired of this. Falling apart. Putting himself back together again. One of these days he isn’t going to be able to, he knows it. He’ll just collapse into a pile of parts and no one will be able to figure out how to weld him back into a solid whole.

“Sometimes I wish I was back there.” The words slip out under his breath, hoarse and trembling. “Just—not having to feel. Not having to choose. Think. Do. Try to be ok. I—I don’t understand that. It sickens me. Scares me. I don’t—I don’t think I’m going to be ok, doctor.” He turns and faces her, dead serious. “Everyone keeps saying it. _You_ keep fucking saying it. But I don’t think it’s true. _I can’t escape that cell._ I’m here! I’m home! I’m back! I’m safe! But my mind is still there, doctor, _it’s still fucking there, and I can’t get out, it’s haunting me, I can’t get out, I—”_

Poe batters the wall with his fists until they bruise. His body vibrates, _trapped trapped trapped_. His mind is static with despair, slipping out of his rational grasp. He spins back to face Dr. Eila, panting.

She’s pressing her knuckles against her mouth, _hard._ The room’s cool lights glint along the tear-tracks sliding down her face. When she sees Poe looking at her, she dashes her hand against her face quickly, wipes her eyes, puts her psytech face back on, clears her throat. “Outside?” She stands, nods. “Outside. Let’s go. There’s a back door out of the psytech wing. Little trail. Sounds good?”

Poe nods back, dazed. “Yeah. Yeah. Ok.”

Outside is green. Bright. Warm. Smells like living things. Has no walls. Poe walks slowly, carefully, inhales, exhales. Watches his feet sink down into the soft forest floor.

Dr. Eila walks a step behind him, silent. After a few minutes, they reach a small opening in the woods. “Want to stop here?” she asks. Poe nods, settles cross-legged on the ground, tips his head  back against a tree, closes his eyes. She sits across from him, leans back against a tree of her own, lets him breathe for a moment.

“Poe,” she says at last. He opens his eyes. “It sounds like you’re really overwhelmed.”

He nods.

“And scared.”

He nods again.

“I’m sorry. It’s so much to have to deal with.”

He shrugs.

“Does it feel better to talk about it?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah. A little bit.”

She smiles. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. You can come to my office anytime, you know. Whenever you need to talk or scream or punch things or go for a walk in here or just sit in silence with someone, you can always come.”

Poe nods again. “I know.” He looks down at his hands.

“And Poe. Everything you’re feeling. It’s normal. _Completely_ normal.”

He stares at her, incredulous.

“Completely normal for someone who’s gone through the worst kind of imprisonment and abuse, including being forced to do horrible things against your will, to the point of wanting to die for many months. If you _didn’t_ come back from that with serious pain and grief and anger, I would be concerned, Poe. The fact that you can scream about it is _good_.”

Poe narrows his eyes at her. “Is that where Finn got it from?”

She laughs. “Did he say something like that? Could be. We’ve talked.”

 _When he was grieving my death, you mean._ “I just—” Poe clears his throat roughly. “I just don’t—” He makes a bridge of his fingertips, presses them together until he can feel the calluses on the pads of his fingers. “I don’t see how I can actually get better. It just doesn’t end.” Poe brings his eyes back up to meet hers. “Iolo will always be dead. My recruits. So many civilians. All of them. And I’ll always have killed them. I know that eventually life will take over, this will feel real again—I’ve been through this before, so many times. I just—”

Poe’s breath huffs out, leaves him half-slumped before the tree. “I just don’t know how I’ll get there. Or if. Or why. I don’t—” His eyes flash up to hers again, intense. “I don’t mean that I don’t want to go on. I _do_! More than anything else. But—it’s just hard to figure out how. How to rebuild, after this. How to—to put myself back together again. Right now, I’m—” Poe’s lips curl up at the ends, but his eyes are still lost. “I took BB-8 apart so I could fix him. Little droid bits, scattered all around. Dented and smashed and melted and—oh, Force. Awful. But I picked up my screwdriver and started putting him back together again. Core processor was fine, I found a new battery—” Poe shrugs. “I should have him up and running again in a few days. Good as new. But _I’m not a droid,_ doctor. I’m not going to heal like that. Not after something like this. It’s too much. I can’t—” Poe buries his face in his hands.

“Poe,” Dr. Eila murmurs. “Do you remember what you said to me the first time you came to see me? Right after Starkiller.”

Poe looks up at her, startled. “What?”

Dr. Eila tilts her head back, remembering. “You didn’t think you’d recover then, either. Didn’t think it was worth trying. _Everyone gets hurt by war_ , you said. _War changes people._ I remember, because I’ve said those words myself before. They’re true, Poe. But there’s a difference between getting hurt and getting killed.” She smiles suddenly. “When you were here last, your friend Finn was recuperating. Does he still have a scar?”

Poe blinks at this non sequitur. “Well—yeah. Yeah, he’ll always have it.” Long, jagged, pale pink-brown slashing through deep black-brown. Less sensitive than the rest of his skin, still prone to occasional pain, but suturing the ruptured halves of his body back into one cohesive form. Allowing him to move, fight, press against Poe in the dark nights.

“When you look at his back, what do you see?” Dr. Eila asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you see his back, or his scar?”

Poe blinks for a moment, then scowls at her. “I don’t come here for pretty metaphors.”

She laughs, unfazed. “Sorry, pilot. It’s how my brain works. If you want me to spell it out—”

“ _No,_ I got it the first time, thank you.”

Dr. Eila settles back against her tree, smug. “So you like my metaphor?”

Poe levels her an unimpressed glare. “Keep working on it, doctor.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Ok, it’s kind of cute. And maybe helpful. But _please_ , for the love of the Force, just speak your mind next time, ok? Or at least use an X-wing metaphor. That I can work with.”

Dr. Eila cracks up. “Copy that, Poe. I’ll work on it.” She thinks for a moment, then tries again. “You’ve flown with a crumpled S-foil before, haven’t you?”

Poe eyes Dr. Eila warily. “Yes…”

“Made it harder to fly straight?”

He shrugs. “Not that bad.”

“Poe.”

“…ok, it’s a bit of a challenge. But still, doable. I made it back safely, both times. Took out a few TIEs on my way home.”

Dr. Eila nods, unsurprised. “And when you’re flying in a damaged ship like that, do you focus on the damage or the rest of the ship?”

Poe scowls at her. “Both. I have to pay attention to all of the ship’s systems _and_ keep an eye on the effects of the smashed wing in order to fly straight.”

Dr. Eila leans back and folds her arms triumphantly across her chest. “I rest my case.”

“Impossible,” Poe mutters. “You’re _completely_ impossible. Have you always been this way?”

Dr. Eila shakes her head, grinning wickedly. “Too many years of talking to you rocketjocks, that’s all.” She leans forward again, intense. “Look, Poe. Back to Finn. His scar is _real_. And so is the rest of his back. It’s the same for you. For life. For anything. Everyone has scars. They’re part of us. So are the unbroken parts. All of it, together, at once.”

Poe thinks this over in silence. Emerald light filters down through the interwoven branches above them. A bright little patch of moss grows on a cracked and fallen branch by his hand. He runs his fingers over it, closes his eyes, lets its living softness soak into his bones.

“Yeah,” Poe says at last. “Yeah. I think I understand.”

 

 

“So here’s the bad news: we haven’t been able to find a suitable T-70 X-wing, not through any of the sources we’ve checked so far.”

Snap’s grin is far too obvious, even through the comm, for Poe to be upset by this. “Out with it, Wexley. You’re having way too much fun on this mission.”

“T-85.” He pauses for a moment, lets Poe process this.

“A— _what_?” Poe’s pretty sure his grin matches Snap’s now.

“Survivor from the New Republic’s fleet. Deep in the Outer Rim. Pilot’s hung up his helmet. Ship’s in decent condition—could use a few repairs, I’m sure you’ll add a few mods, but overall, she’s a _beauty_ , Poe. You have no idea how jealous I am.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I have an idea, Snap. But—can we afford it? I mean, the budget—”

“Poe. She’s yours. We’ll be back at 2100 tomorrow. Bring paint.”

“You’re the _best_ , Snap.”

Snap grins again. “I know.”

 

 

Finn’s eyes open slowly in the dim pre-dawn light. Poe? No Poe. He pats the bed blearily, blinking at the wall. Slowly he rolls over, squints out into the room. Closet, desk, chair, oh, there’s Poe. Finn takes a moment to run his eyes over his lover’s handsome form—thick dark curls, graceful curve from neck to shoulder, work-scarred hands resting peacefully in his lap, pointing his blaster pistol at his—

“ _NO!_ ” Finn bellows, tumbling out of bed and tackling him to the floor. Poe grunts with the impact, winded, eyes rimmed white with shock. Finn pins Poe’s wrists to the ground with one hand, snatches the blaster with the other, checks the safety—on—throws it across the room. “ _WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!_ ” he screams at Poe. “You can’t—you wouldn’t—you _promised_ me, Poe, you _promised_.” His voice snags on the word.

Poe gasps for air beneath him, instinctively struggling to get free. “Let go. Let me _go_ , Finn, get _off—_ ”

“ _No_ ,” Finn snarls. “Poe. How could you. _How could you, Poe, how_ —”

“I wasn’t—no, Finn, I wasn’t—it’s not—”

“No, huh? Ok. Tell me, then. What were you doing early in the morning sitting there _pointing_   _your fucking blaster at your head,_ Poe, tell me! Admiring it? Playing with it? What the _fuck else_ were you planning to do with it?”

“I wasn’t. Planning. Anything.” Poe’s words grit between his teeth. “Finn. I was—I was _thinking—”_

“Oh, and that’s supposed to be better, right? You weren’t _planning_ to _—_ you were just _thinking_ about it _._ Oh, that’s good. I’m so glad. _POE YOU FUCKER IF YOU EVER—ever—_ ” Finn can’t continue. Tears are running freely down his face.

“Finn, I _wouldn’t_.” It’s hard for Poe to think coherently around his panic at Finn’s tight grasp on his wrists. “Swear by the Force,” he rasps. “I wouldn’t. I wasn’t going to.”

“Then what the _fuck_ were you doing with it?” Finn growls.

“I was thinking about how I have a _choice_.” Poe closes his eyes against Finn’s blistering glare. “I can _choose,_ Finn—”

“No, you _can’t_ , because you _promised_ me, Poe.” Finn’s voice shakes. “You _promised_ me you wouldn’t, you weren’t even thinking about it, no, never! you said, and I _trusted_ you, Poe, because I’m a fucking _idiot_. I’m not doing that again.” Finn hauls Poe up from the floor in one rough yank, keeps him pinned against the desk as he bangs on their comm.

“What are you doing? _What are you doing, Finn, get the fuck off me let me go—”_ Poe struggles violently, moves to knee him in the groin. Finn shoves his knee between Poe’s legs to stop him.

“Kalonia! Dr. Kalonia!”

“No.” Poe stills, face white. “ _No_. They’ll put me back in that room, Finn, _please._ Please don’t. _Please—_ ”

“Finn? What’s going on?”

Finn’s clenched jaw is slick with tears.

“I need help.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream at me in the comments.


	11. a dark line of sutures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _et quamuis tecum multo coniungerer usu,_  
>        _non satis id causae credideram esse tibi._  
>  _tu satis id duxti._
> 
> And although I was closely connected to you,  
>       I had not thought that that was reason enough for you.  
> You thought it enough.  
> — Catullus 91
> 
> ***TW for discussions of suicidal thoughts. Highly recommended to read this chapter accompanied by a warm quilt, a hot rum toddy, a pair of loving arms, or all of the above.  
>   
> 

 

“Good morning, Poe.” Dr. Eila’s hair is ruffled out of its usual neat bun, as though she’d pulled it together while running to the psych ward. When she enters, the nurse assigned to attend Poe smiles at them and walks out of the room, closing the heavy door behind her. Poe sits on the end of the cot, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on his hands. The lockdown room is white and square and small as ever.

“Will you please let me out of here?” Poe’s not going to bother with hello.

Dr. Eila’s eyes tighten. “Our goal is to keep you safe, Poe. Right now, this is the safest place we’ve—”

“I don’t care how safe _you think_ it is, I am telling you that _I do not feel safe in here!”_ His voice cracks.

Dr. Eila’s face twists, pained. “Poe. I hear you. I understand. And I also am required to keep you in here until we can figure out a plan to keep you safe. Do you understand?”

Poe grinds his teeth to keep himself from screaming at her.

She presses her lips together. “Finn says he woke up this morning to find you pointing your blaster pistol at your head. He believes that you were going to kill yourself with it.”

“I wasn’t going to. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then explain, please. What happened this morning?”

If he doesn’t look at the walls, then they could be farther away than they are. Much farther away. Poe clenches his hands to keep himself grounded. “I woke up—” He pauses, corrects. “I had a nightmare, and then I woke up. I was—it took a moment—it was another one of those times. When nothing felt real. I was convinced I would wake up again and find myself back—” Hoarse breath. Continues. “I got up, tried to meditate, ground myself, get back to reality. Nothing worked. I kept thinking I was _there_ , I was back there, I was killing— _Doctor_.” Poe looks up at her, _needing_ to make her understand. “I told you. I wanted to die there because it was the only way to stop killing—killing—but I _couldn’t_ , doctor, they pinned me to that thing, I couldn't—” Another breath. Onwards. “I—I took out my pistol this morning to remind myself that I’m not trapped there anymore.” His voice falls, soft. “To remember that I’m free. I can _choose_. I don’t—I wouldn’t—” The words themselves press the walls a little bit further away from his body. Poe looks her in the eye. “I choose to _live,_ Doctor. I swear it.”

Dr. Eila’s holds Poe’s gaze, brow furrowed, lips pursed in thought. Finally she sighs. “Poe. I believe you.”

“Then can I _please_ —” Poe stands, but she holds up a hand, motioning him back down. He stays standing.

“Poe. You’ve been through a significant trauma. I understand that this time you did not actually intend to take your own life, _but_ , Poe, the thought was there. Which means that next time—”

“There won’t be a next time—”

“There _might_ be, Poe, and we have to plan as though there _will_ be. And the next time it happens, you may not be able to make the same choice. Our priority is to keep you safe,” Dr. Eila presses. “I don’t want to keep you in this room any more than you want to be here, but until you’re more stable, this is the best place for you to be. We’ll be able to talk about what happened in peace. Figure out some ways for you to handle thoughts like this _without_ a blaster.”

Poe stares at her. “In peace.”

“Poe—”

“Dr. Eila. I know you’re a reasonable person.”

“Poe, it’s _regulation._ I have to keep you here.”

“ _Fuck regulation,”_ Poe snarls, hanging tightly to the end of his rope. “ _Get me the fuck out of here!”_

“Poe—”

“I _wasn’t_ , Dr. Eila, I _wouldn’t_ , I wasn’t going to—you have to believe me—”

“I understand, Poe. We’re trying to prevent it from happening again—”

“ _Please—”_ Poe’s voice breaks.

“Dr. Eila?” Her comm crackles. “May I come in?”

Poe straightens, startled. Dr. Eila gives him a long look, then replies, “Yes, you may.”

Rey pokes her head in the door, eyes darting between the two of them, before she enters.

Poe rubs his forehead, tired. “How did _you_ get involved in this? Does everyone know?”

“No. Finn commed me. And once here, I—”

Felt him panicking, Poe knows, and also knows she’s going to be careful not to say that she sensed him. Poe’s eyes jump to Dr. Eila. “Can you leave us alone for a moment?”

Dr. Eila blinks. “Ah—yes, as long as Rey’s here. Rey—”

Rey nods, regal. “I’ll comm you if we need you.”

With one last evaluative glance at Poe, Dr. Eila steps out. Rey turns to face Poe, silent.

“Finn told you what happened.”

She nods.

Poe slides off the end of the cot, paces the small room. He turns back to Rey. “Is he—” He stops short, unsure what to ask.

“Hurt, scared, worried, guilty—”

“ _Fuck_.” Poe scrubs his hands through his hair, then spreads them towards her, willing her to believe him. “I wouldn’t, Rey, I _wouldn’t_. I promised him, and I meant it. I keep my promises.”

“I know.”

“He doesn’t believe me.”

“He’s terrified for you, Poe.”

_Fuck._

Poe leans his forehead against the wall, then snaps back towards her. “They don’t believe me, either.”

“I know.”

“They want to keep me here.”

“I know.”

“I can’t— Rey, you know I can’t—”

“You’ll be all right, Poe. We’ll stay in here with you until they let you go. You’ll be ok.”

“ _No_ ,” Poe growls. “ _I can’t stay in here,_ Rey, fuck, they just let me out of this fucking—and now—” He kicks the cot, kicks it again. “Rey.” He looks back at her. “Look inside my mind.”

“ _What?”_ Rey backs away a step, hand to her throat.

“Please. I’m asking you, Rey. Please. Look. Tell them I’m not thinking about—that I don’t want to— _tell them._ They’ll trust you. And then they’ll let me out. I’ll still talk to them, Rey, I’ll do whatever they want me to do, but I can’t stay in this cell, you know I can’t, I—”

Rey’s eyes are huge. She’s shaking her head. “No. No, Poe. I can’t—I wouldn’t do that to you—”

“I’m _asking_ you to, Rey. It wouldn’t be—” So many words chase between them, unsaid.

She clasps her elbows tight to her chest. “Poe—” Her brow is tightly furrowed. He waits.

“You want me to probe your mind.”

“Yes.”

“In order to get out of here.”

“Yes.”

“How can you possibly prefer—that—to this room?”

“Rey.” When the gauze bandages on his wrists scrape against his forearms, Poe notices his hands are clutching his arms to his sides as tightly as hers. If he keeps his eyes trained on hers, he doesn't have to see the walls. Everything was fine until this morning, it’ll be fine again, it’ll be fine, but he _needs to get out of this room._ A few moments of having a Jedi scrape through his brains versus a week of being back in a cell, the chance to reassure Finn that he means what he says— “Please.”

She hesitates.

“I mean, as long as _you’re_ ok with it,” he adds. “If you don’t want to, that’s—” _not ok, really not ok,_ but Poe drags the words out anyway. “That’s ok. I’ll be ok. You don’t have to.”

Rey raises one sardonic brow. “Poe, you are clearly not ok right now.”

“Well, no, but still. You don't have to do it. I’d never make you.”

She thinks it over for a long moment, watchful eyes probing his face nearly as closely as she could ever probe his mind. “Poe. We all want you to be ok again. If this will help, then—” She shrugs. “I don’t _want_ to go poking into your mind, but if it will help, I’m willing to do it. You’d certainly be more comfortable with me than with Master Luke. Do you—” Her lips bare in a sudden snarl. “Do you know how badly you scared Finn?”

Poe bows his head. “Yeah. I know. But I didn’t mean to, Rey, I—”

“I know that. And if I can look at your memory of this morning, and explain it to him, he might be a little bit less scared for you. Which is also why I’m doing it. And when I’m done, and when he’s ready to talk to you again, you two are going to have it out. Clear?”

“Yes.”

Rey exhales, looks him up and down. “You’re sure you want me to do this.”

“Yes.” _No fuck no but yes_ , he has to get out of here, he has to make things right with Finn again.

Rey’s eyes hold his for a long moment. Finally she nods. “Ok. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

Rey snorts. “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s just hope you’re still breathing when I’m done.”

 

 

Poe closes his eyes. They’re sitting cross-legged on the cot, facing each other, backs straight. He listens to Rey’s quiet breathing for a few moments, gathering calm into his bones. With his eyes closed, it’s simple enough to step into the clearing, settle himself down in the warm grass, lie down on his back, stare up at the sky. Blue, endless blue, clouds, birds, soaring upwards, open space above and all around him.

He flips his palm up.

He can feel her before him, standing at the door to his mind. She knocks, polite. He opens the door, steps aside to let her in. She moves slowly, calmly, quietly. He slips back to the clearing for a moment, tries to stay there, but she’s in his memories, sifting around, and she’s being as gentle as she can but it still hurts, it hurts. Grass, warm sun, vast sky, he’s safe, he wanted this—He finds the memory and shoves it at her, desperate for her to read it and leave. Her grip on his mind does not burn like Ren’s, cracking through his identity, torching his memories, but she’s there all the same, rifling through his thoughts, touching his _self_ with clammily intimate hands, and he can’t stand it anymore get out get out get _out—_

She’s out. Poe opens his eyes, gasping for air, leans over the side of the bed and wills himself not to retch.

He doesn’t.

She’s silent.

It’s many minutes before he can breathe normally again without wanting to puke, but at last he can, so he sits up— a little unsteady— and looks at her.

Rey watches him intently. “Are you ok?”

Poe takes a moment to think that one over. “Yeah?” he answers at last, still shaky. “Yeah. I think I am. Huh. _Not_ that I want you to go doing this on a regular basis, or, for that matter, _ever_ again, but—yeah. Right now. I’m—yeah. I’m more or less ok.”

“Really?” Rey’s face breaks into a sudden, glorious smile. “Poe. You did it.”

“ _You_ did it. I just sat here and tried not to go nuts.”

Rey shakes her head. “You let me into your mind without panicking. Or, ok, at least without panicking so badly that I had to get out before I saw the memory. I was starting to think _I’d_ be the first one to lose it.”

“I did.” Poe blinks, nonplussed. “I did, didn’t I? I did.” He tilts his head, considers this. “I did. I really did.”

Rey laughs. “You’re stronger than you think, Poe.”

“Am I? Huh.” Poe’s face lights up in a slow grin. “Maybe I am.”

“You _are_ , Poe. Really. You know, now that you’ve—mostly—overcome one trigger, why don’t you stay in this room for a few days and work on that one, too?” To her credit, Rey doesn’t even flinch under Poe’s icy glare. “Or not. Ok. One at a time. Still, Poe. It’s something to be proud of.”

“You, too, Rey. Thank you for being willing to do it. Are _you_ ok?”

Rey nods, steady. “Not as bad as I’d feared. It’s completely different to be _let_ into someone’s mind, rather than shove my way in.” The coiled braid atop her head—Jess’ handiwork, most likely—stays put as she tilts her head for a moment, thinking. “Maybe I’ll even try that with Jess sometime, if she likes the idea. Could be—entertaining.” Rey slides him a devilish grin before hopping off the bed. “I’m going to go talk to the doctors. Wish me luck.”

“Do you think they’ll believe you?”

Rey looks back over her shoulder. “They’ll believe me.” Her lips curl up again, cocky.

“Rey—you could have gotten me out of here an hour ago!”

“What? No! _Poe.”_ She scowls at him. “I’m not going to Force-control them! Are you crazy? I’m going to clearly and reasonably explain what I saw. And then let them decide what they want to do. I want you _alive_ , Poe,” she presses, fierce. “Whatever they decide to do with the information, we will comply with. Ok?”

“No,” Poe laughs. It’s either that or scream, and he’s really trying to keep it together, thanks very much. “No. Sure you can’t—”

“ _No_ , Poe. Laserbrain,” Rey mutters. She presses her comm. “Dr. Eila? Let me out?”

 

 

Water ripples gently against the shore. Swallows dart and dive over the surface like a peaceable squadron of X-wings. Speaking of squadrons, there’s Blue overhead, screaming back to base after a full morning of training runs. The noise must cover the sound of footsteps, because although Rey doesn’t even flinch, Poe’s startled out of his skin when the voice comes from behind them.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Finn.” Rey smiles warmly up at him, slides to her feet with the elegant grace of a Caminoan.

“I’ll take over now.” Finn’s avoiding Poe’s gaze.

She nods. “Ok. I’ll be in the sparring courts, training. Let me know when you’d like me or Jess to spell you for a while.”

 _Spell him._ Fucking Poe-watch. Some parole. Seven days of this, not a moment alone. But at least no cell, thank the Force. Or rather, thank Rey and her use of the Force.

Finn nods back. Rey leaves, feet quiet on the pebbled path. Finn stares out at the lake, lips trembling.

“Finn.”

Silence.

Poe eases slowly to his feet, steps forward.

“Finn.”

Finn turns to him with a furious glare. “If you _ever_ do _anything_ like that _ever_ again—”

“I won’t, Finn. I’m so sorry I scared you. You know I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, I heard, Rey told me, they all told me.” A muscle jumps in his jaw. He presses on it hard to make it stop. “Poe. You have _so many fucking choices now!_ You couldn’t bring yourself back by choosing what shirt to wear, or what to have for breakfast? You had to fucking choose _whether or not to continue living, Poe, that is_ _not a choice you fuck around with!”_

 _“I know that,_ Finn, don’t you think I know that by now?” Poe’s shouting back at him, wildly glad to finally find an outlet for the tension in his veins. He’s _never_ seen Finn this furious before. “I spent the last six months wanting to— _fuck_ , Finn, you know what I—” Poe drags in a violent breath.

“I do know!” Finn screams back. “Do you think I like hearing that you wanted—wanted to—” He can’t finish the sentence. Neither of them can.

“No more than I like remembering it!” Poe pulls at his hair, turns away, turns back. “But that’s _done_ , Finn, that’s over, this is now, that’s the whole point of this fucking—I _wouldn’t do that_ , Finn, I told you, I asked you to trust me—”

“I did trust you! And then I woke up see you pointing a blaster, Poe, a fucking _blaster_ , at your head—”

“And you didn’t even let me explain! You got me locked up in that _fucking_ cell—Finn, you _know_ —”

“I don’t care how much you hate being locked up! If that’s what it takes to keep you here, Poe, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’m not going to apologize for it.”

Poe punches him. Finn catches his fist before it hits his face, thrusts Poe’s arm aside, steps quickly back out of his reach. He’s not going to pin Poe down again, but he’d rather not get punched if he can help it.

At this reminder that he’s still not strong enough to put up a fair fight, Poe loses what little control he still has and lunges at Finn in a blind rage. Finn ducks under his arm and pins Poe’s chest to his, tight enough to hurt. Their mouths meet with the instinct of long habit. Finn crushes Poe’s mouth to his with barely restrained fury. Poe responds in kind, biting Finn’s lip, gripping the back of his neck with bruising force.

“No.” Finn pushes him away, breaks out of Poe’s hands, steps back until he hits a tree. “ _No_ ,” he repeats, hoarse. “This isn't right.”

Poe presses his knuckles to his lips, panting. “How are we going to fix this, Finn?” His voice shakes.

Finn stares at him with dark-tunneled eyes. “Promise me you’ll never do that again. _Ever,_ Poe, _ever_ again. You always say you’re willing to die for me.” Finn’s voice is harsh and bruised. “I’ve never asked for that. I want you to _live_ for me, and I know that’s not a thing I can ask,” and he’s crying almost too hard to speak now, “but I’m asking it anyway, Poe, please—”

“I _am_ , Finn, I’m trying. I _promise_. You’ve trusted me all along, through this whole _fucking_ ordeal you’ve been the only one who’s trusted me completely, Finn, and I need that,” Poe’s voice cracks. “I _need_ that, Finn, I _need_ you to trust me.”

“I _did_ trust you!” Finn shouts. “You broke that trust!”

“I wasn’t going to do anything!” Poe roars back. “You wouldn’t even _listen_ to me! That’s not _trust_ , Finn.”

“ _What would you have explained?_ ” Finn screams at him. _“_ There is _no good reason_ for pointing a blaster at your _fucking_ head, Poe, there just _isn’t_ , not in _any_ galaxy, in _any_ universe, in _any_ —”

“I needed it to help bring me back! I had a nightmare, Finn, nothing felt real, I couldn’t—”

“ _You_ had a nightmare? Poe!  _THIS IS MY FUCKING NIGHTMARE!”_ Finn wrenches away, hurls his fist into a tree—and collapses against it, face buried in his arm, braced against the trunk, shoulders shaking.

For a moment Poe can only stand there, paralyzed. The next moment he’s behind Finn with no memory of how he got there, heart stuttering, wrapping his arms tightly around his lover’s chest. Finn’s body is rigid beneath his grasp. Poe lowers his head to Finn’s back, eyes screwed shut, breath unsteady.

“Finn. Finn.” He’s not sure who’s trembling now. Maybe both of them are. “Oh, Finn.” Poe’s throat burns. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you, Finn. I fucked up.” He swallows roughly. “I’m sorry, Finn, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Finn’s heart. Oh, Force. He’s holding Finn’s broken heart in his arms.

The only time Finn is ever this _silent_ is when he cries. Poe holds on as tightly as he can, drags each breath through his throat. The minutes press on, hammering against the base of his skull. Strangling him. _Please, Force. Let him be ok. Help me make this right again._

At last Finn straightens. Turns. Leans back against the tree. He’s drained. Completely drained. He stares at Poe. Poe stares back. Finn’s chest rises, falls. Rises, falls. Poe’s heart pounds in his ears. Their harsh breath echoes over the water. 

Wind from the lake catches Poe’s hair, blows dark curls across his forehead. Late-morning sun glimmers over Finn’s tear-streaked face. Stubble-rough jaw, pain-lined mouth, bruise-sunken eyes. Bright black-brown, strong cheekbones, wounded eyes. The lovers’ gazes each hold the other in place—caught, stilled. Drinking the other in.

“I told you my worst fear was losing you,” Finn murmurs at last. “It’s not. That’s my second-worst fear.”

“Finn—”

“My worst fear, Poe. It’s losing you, even though you’ve come home. Not being able to pull you back to us, to me, to yourself. Watching you—” He presses his knuckles to his mouth.

“I _won’t._  Finn.” Poe’s never meant anything more in his life. “I _swear_ to you. I _wasn’t_ going to, and I _never_ will. If there’s any way out—I _won’t_. You’re going to have to believe me on that.”

Finn’s silent.

Poe waits. A crash harness constricts his ribs too tightly to breathe. He holds on tightly and _waits_.

“Why not?” Finn asks at last, voice rough. “Why won’t you?”

Poe blinks, startled. “Why not—Finn. You really can’t guess?”

Finn stares at him for a moment, blank. Slowly his eyes widen. An unexpected smile trembles onto his face, off again. “Really?” he whispers, hoarse. “ _Really?”_

Poe’s eyes are over-bright. “ _Really_.”

“But—is that—I mean—am I—is that a good enough reason?”

“Standing here, aren’t I? Alive. With you.”

Finn’s face lights slowly, slowly, like the sun over the jungles of Yavin IV. “Yeah.” Finn whispers. “Yeah. You are.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Poe tries to grin, almost manages it, pulls in a shuddering breath instead. “There are a lot of other reasons too, you know. All of you—Snap, Jess, Rey, Karé. BB-8. The General. My squadron. Fighting for the Resistance. Crushing the First Order. My parents’ memory. The way it feels to fly. The way it feels to fuck. And—” He takes another shaky breath, then continues, fierce, “And _myself_.”

Finn’s eyes are glittering again. “I’m glad,” he manages at last. “That you have so many reasons. That they’re enough to keep you here. Safe.” _With me,_ he continues, but his throat is too tight to speak. He reaches a tentative hand towards Poe.

Poe grabs the hand, holds it tight. “Can you—” Poe swallows hard. “Can you forgive me—for scaring you, this morning?”

Finn meets Poe’s bruise-dark eyes, lifts their joined hands, runs a trembling finger along his lover’s jaw. “Yes,” Finn whispers at last. “I do forgive you. Please—for the love of the Force, _please_ don’t do anything like it ever again, but—I understand why you did it. I think. And I’m glad it helped.” He takes a ragged breath. “I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you when you tried to explain. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry I dragged you to them. Knowing they’d lock you up. Knowing—what that means to you.”

Poe presses Finn’s hand to his face. He closes his eyes, leans into the warmth of Finn’s palm, takes a deep breath. “It’s ok,” Poe whispers back. “You—you did the right thing. Don’t do it again, for the love of the Force, _please_ —but it was the right thing to do, at the time, with what you knew. You—you could have saved my life.”

Finn slides his hand to the back of Poe’s neck, draws him in close, buries his face in Poe’s shoulder, wraps his other arm around Poe’s waist — warm, strong, grounding. “What should I do next time?” he asks, words muffled. “How can I help? What do you need?”

Poe laughs softly. “Exactly that, Finn,” he murmurs. “Ask me what I need. Listen to the answer. Trust me. _Believe_ what I say, Finn, I—I need someone here who believes me.” Poe swallows hard. “And—and just—” He’s not sure why it’s so hard to say. “Just—love me. Finn. Just be here. You’re good at that, you know. It helps. Helps a _lot_.”

“I’m glad,” Finn whispers. He straightens, frames his lover's face in his hands. “Is that all?”

Poe blinks. “Yeah? I think so? Right now, at least.”

“Ask you what you need,” Finn repeats. “Listen to you. Trust you. Believe what you say. Love you. Poe.” A trembling smile spreads across his face. “I can do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I can do that.” Finn’s smile lights his face as brightly always, taking Poe's breath away for a moment. 

“Ok. Ok.” Poe draws him close again, rests his head on Finn’s shoulder. “Ok. That’s good. I’m glad. Ok.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “What do _you_ need? Is there anything I can do? I mean, other than not play with blasters.” Poe pauses for a moment. “Too soon? Not funny? Too soon. Sorry.”

Finn’s back shakes under Poe’s hands with a spurt of laughter. “ _Definitely_ too soon. Poe.” He draws back to meet Poe’s eyes. “But that would help, yes, that would really help a lot. I know you said you needed it, Poe, I know you said you weren’t going to—but seriously, Poe, I don’t think I can take any more of that. Ok?”

“I'm going to keep using weapons, you know. I'll be out on the target range again soon enough, once I’m recovered enough to start training again.”

Finn snorts. “Yes. Well. If I could take you far away from here and wrap you in blankets and never let you near anything sharp or dangerous again, I would. Somehow, I doubt that’s an option.”

Poe laughs, clear and bright. “Damn straight.”

“Figured as much,” Finn sighs. “But—ok. What do I need?”

_I need you to be ok. I need you to be happy. I need you to be safe. I need to crush the fucking First Order until they're a distant myth. I need you to promise me that we’re going to live forever and ever, in peace, surrounded by everyone we love._

Finn’s breath huffs short, helpless. “I need a lot of things, Poe.” His voice is mostly steady. Mostly.

Poe’s hands tighten on Finn’s sides. He knows the feeling. “Yeah. Well. Um.” He coughs. “Maybe I should rephrase that. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Finn draws back to meet Poe’s eyes. His hands slide to Poe’s arms, hold on tightly. “Tell me what’s going on. Whatever you can. Tell me what you need, whenever you need it. I’ll ask every time I can, but I won’t always be able to. Like this morning—you could have woken me up, Poe. You’ve done that plenty of times before. Why didn’t you—” Finn breaks off, bemused, as Poe collapses into a fit of laughter. “Uh…Poe?”

Poe braces his hands on his knees, gasping for air. “Finn. Oh, Force. Finn.” He loses it again, scrubs a hand over his face, tries to sober up. “Right. Finn. Why—you know why didn’t wake you up, this morning?”

“No,” Finn sighs. “Which is why I asked. But I can wait. It’s ok. Take your time.”

“Nerfherder.” Poe straightens up, swats his arm. “Finn. This morning. What I was feeling. It was—too much. So much more than before. I didn’t wake you up because I didn’t want to scare you.”

Finn levels a steely glower at Poe. “Which is funny because…”

“Because…not waking you up ended up scaring you so much worse?”

“Which is funny because…”

Poe cocks his hands on his hips. “What else am I supposed to do? Scream? Finn.” _You know damn well why I snarked at Kylo Ren._

“Poe—”

“Which is why I’ll wake you up next time,” Poe sighs, concedes the point. “And try to tell you what’s going on. What I need. Ok?”

“Thank you.” Finn’s hands stretch broad and strong over Poe’s hips, pulling him close. Poe’s hands slide down to Finn’s waist, wrap around the warm column of his back. He leans his head on Finn’s shoulder again, feels Finn’s head lower to his. Their bodies fit together as always, melting into the other’s familiar shape. They rest beneath the tree’s sheltering canopy for a long time, quiet. Poe closes his eyes, listens to the lake, the swallows, the distant echoes of blaster practice from the base. Listens to Finn’s heart, steady beat beneath his ear, matching his own. Feels a dark line of sutures pierce their bodies and pull tight. 

“Finn.” Poe says at last. He leans back, cups his lover’s face in his hands to see his expression, tries to keep the desperate worry out of his voice. Mostly fails. “Are we going to be ok? _Us,_ I mean.”

“Poe.” Finn’s body tenses in Poe’s arms. “Do you forgive me?”

“Finn.” Poe strokes a thumb down Finn’s cheek. “ _Yes._ Do you forgive me?”

“Yes.” Finn swallows hard. “I do. And—and you keep your promises, right?” His voice shakes. 

“Always.”

Finn nods, gathering strength. “Then I think we're going to be ok. Do you?”

Poe leans against Finn until their foreheads touch. “ _Yes_. We will. We really will.” _Thank you. Oh, Force. Thank you._ “I love you, you know that?”

“Love you too, Poe. _Always_.” Finn’s voice cracks. Gently, gently, _gently,_ he leans in towards Poe and kisses him. Poe snags the back of Finn’s neck to pull him in tight. Finn’s mouth is lush as ever—pressing in hard, retreating softly, welcoming him in. He tastes like home, like trust, like love.

When they break apart for air at last, they’re both a little flushed. Poe leans against Finn, exhausted and shaky, as the morning’s adrenaline slowly leaves him. Finn’s arms drop to the small of Poe’s back to support him. Poe closes his eyes and tucks his head into Finn’s shoulder. His hands slide up to grip Finn’s back, fingers spread wide over muscle and scar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  OOF. Whoa. So I seriously did not intend to have a chapter like this. I had the rest of the story all sewn up and done and then one day I woke up at 4:30 in the morning with this chapter and the last section of the previous chapter SCREAMING in my head. No, really, SCREAMING at me. And then I couldn’t go back to sleep, because it wouldn’t stop screaming at me. 
> 
> So (once it was a slightly more reasonable hour) I started writing it, and then continued furiously for the rest of the day. And yes, I have a day job, and no, I didn’t get any work done, because screw work ethic, it would have been cruel to keep these poor souls in pain. Is this an occupational hazard of being a writer? No sleep and no work done and oh god where do I even find this kind of angst?
> 
> This was probably the hardest chapter I've ever written. Oh god I'm _so nervous_. I don’t normally feel like crying when I write, because after all, the characters are telling me a story that's already happened. So no matter how sad it is, I already know that it’s going to work out. They’re going to be ok. But this one—oof. It was pretty close there for a while. 
> 
> So I’m sending you all virtual apology notes and (spiked) hot cocoa. Come scream at me in the comments if you need a hug.
> 
> Last chapter goes up on Saturday...


	12. when your heart finds what it needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Iucundum, mea vita, mihi proponis amorem_  
>  _hunc nostrum inter nos perpetuumque fore._  
>  _di magni, facite ut vere promittere possit,_  
>  _atque id sincere dicat et ex animo,_  
>  _ut liceat nobis tota perducere vita_  
>  _aeternum hoc sanctae foedus amicitiae._  
> 
> You promise me, my life, that this our love  
>       will last forever between us.  
> Oh great gods, make it be and promise it truly,  
>       say it sincerely and from the soul  
> so that we may continue all our life  
>       this eternal bond of sacred friendship.  
> — Catullus 109

 

The forest is bright, quiet, warm. It’s not their usual clearing—too far for Poe’s still-shaky legs—but it’s becoming a place of peace between them. Maybe it’s just Rey’s calming presence that makes it so? At any rate, it’s a good place to sit, to think, to clear one’s head. So that’s what they’re doing now, cross-legged among the ferns, facing each other.

But it’s hard to hold onto that calm, this morning, it’s just not working, and Poe opens his eyes yet again, blinks out into the green-lit world. Rey’s eyes are already open, watching him. When she sees his eyes open, she looks away quickly. “I sensed it. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s ok, Rey,” Poe murmurs.

Rey laughs softly. “I think that’s what I’m supposed to be saying to you, isn’t it? I wasn’t going to, because you’re clearly not ok right now.”

“No,” Poe looks down at his hands. “I’m not. But—” he looks up, waits for her to meet his eyes again. “I will be, Rey. I will be.”

 

 

Poe steps inside the mess hall, hesitant, feeling the lunchtime roar wash over him like the din of sub-atmo battle. It’s just him right now: Poe-watch is over, he’s been cleared by medbay to eat real food again, Finn, Snap, and Jess are out training a new set of recruits, and Rey’s sparring with Luke. Does the room go a bit quieter when he walks in? Is everyone staring? Or is it his imagination?

Poe ignores them, straightens his back. _I am one of you. This is my home._ He wends his way to the serving line slowly and carefully, ducking aside to avoid a cleaning droid’s soapy arms, an irate Bothan storming out after a pair of terrified cadets, and a group of Twi’leks about to get into a fistfight over a game of sabacc.

Lunch at the Resistance. It’s been a long time.

Poe takes his meal to his normal place at the pilots’ table. Karé’s there, along with two new-looking pilots who stare up at him with wide eyes as he sits down. He nods to them. “Hi.”

Karé nods back. “Dameron. Wondering when you’d decide to show your face in the mess hall again.” She cocks her head towards the recruits. “This is Eylen, and Sab’ew.”

“Eylen. Sab’ew.” Poe shakes their hands. “Nice to meet you. Stiletto Squadron?” They nod, straightening self-consciously. “What do you think of Captain Karé?”

“She’s amazing,” Sab’ew replies immediately, “We won the last sub-atmo scrimmage, thanks to her stall turn.”

“And her killer strategy,” Eylen adds. “We’re going to use a part of it in our mission tomorrow to recover a stolen supply ship on one of Tighrit’s moons.”

Poe laughs. “I’ve seen that stall turn. Work of art. Glad to hear you’ve kept up your talents at sub-atmo scrimmaging, Karé. Wouldn’t do to let Snap or Jess think they have a chance.”

The recruits’ smiles slip on and off as easily as a visor opening, closing. They’re silent. But Poe knows pilots, and he knows these tables cover an entire dialect of silent interchanges. He spreads his hands. “Just say it, ok? Whatever’s going on underneath those sneaky glances and ankle nudges.”

They both jump in their seats, startled. Sab’ew’s the first to speak up, lekku rippling uncertainly around her shoulders. “We were Iolo’s recruits, originally.”

Eylen looks down at his plate. Karé folds her arms across her chest.

“Right.” Poe swallows. “You miss him?”

“A lot.” Sab’ew blinks hard. Eylen nods.

“So do I.” The recruits look up at Poe in surprise. “He was a good friend. We’ll always miss him.” Poe clears his throat. “Karé. Did you ever tell them about his Malyrikan maneuver?”

Karé’s lips curl up at the ends, remembering. “Not yet.”

“She told us about the Yissira Zyde, though!” Eylen’s eyes are bright with admiration.

“And the Glir’ek mission, and that near miss out of Rolientor’s smallest moon,” Sab’ew adds.

“You should show us your reverse L’ullo, sometime.” Eylen’s got a starfighter pilot’s sharp gaze already, but Poe doesn’t miss the flicker of nervousness before he speaks.

“I’d love to,” Poe returns easily. “Should add it to the training regimen one of these days. But only once you’ve mastered stall turns to Karé’s standards.”

Sab’ew mock-groans. “The First Order will be a distant legend by the time that ever happens.”

“True. Unless, of course, you finally manage to get your sorry asses in gear and focus on _flying_ , not _falling._ ” Karé smiles beatifically at her cadets, then turns back to Poe. “They’ve got a point about that reverse L’ullo, you know. ‘Bout time you revealed your dirty tricks to the rest of us.”

Poe links his hands behind his head and leans back in his seat, cocky. “Sure thing, Karé. Won’t help you win the next deep-space scrimmage, though.”

She bares her teeth at him, wolfish. “We’ll see about that.”

Poe laughs, full and bright. “Game on, Captain. Moment the general clears me to break atmo, we’re doing this.”

Karé raises a long brow. “So you are going to fly again. We’ve been wondering about that.”

Poe blinks. “Karé. I—of course I’m going to fly. As soon as I can. What else would I do?”

“In combat, too?” she presses.

Poe’s not laughing any more. “Awful lot of deaths on my hands to revenge,” he says at last, hoarse.

“Not on _your_ hands.” There’s still a vengeful glint in Karé’s eyes, but it’s not aimed at Poe. “On _theirs_. You won’t be avenging them alone.”

Poe can only nod at her, blinking hard.

Karé settles back in her chair, satisfied. “Good.” She steals a slice of fruit from his plate and pops it in her mouth. Mouth full, she continues, “Been a bit too quiet around here without you, Dameron. We’ll have to start filling you in on the latest scuttlebutt.”

“What latest scuttlebutt?”

Poe turns, startled, to find five other pilots at his back—three familiar faces from Coalstreak and two newer cadets. They shove in around the table, smelling like ion exhaust and motor oil and hot durasteel. Poe’s eyes flicker shut as he inhales. Pilots’ table at the Resistance. It’s been a long time, indeed.

Poe opens his eyes to Karé’s considering gaze. “Good to be back?” she asks.

“You have no idea,” Poe answers with feeling.

Karé’s face slides into a crooked grin. “Glad to have you back, Dameron.”

Poe can hear the fiery _snap-crack_ as her arc welder sparks along one of the cracks in his hull, leaving a molten line of durasteel over the seam.

 

 

“Finn? Oh, he’s out on the landing bay with the new recruits.” The cadet jerks a thumb over her shoulder. Poe thanks her and heads towards the large bay doors.

Once outside, Poe gets distracted for several minutes by the fierce strength of the afternoon sunshine. When he finally opens his eyes to look around, he catches Finn whipping his head back around to face his recruits. Not quickly enough. Poe laughs under his breath as he walks towards their small group. As he gets closer, however, a small thread of nervousness starts to coil in his stomach. Something is wrong. What’s wrong?

“Morning, Captain!” he calls. “Caught you staring there. Get a good show?”

Finn turns to him with a broad grin. “We should really just plant you out here and let you soak in the sun all day, huh?”

Poe barely hears his words as the recruits pivot as one to face him. Something in their stance, the straightness of their backs, one foot pointed towards him—

“Finn,” he gulps. “Finn, they’re—”

Finn’s arm wraps around the small of his back, pulls him closer. “This is Commander Dameron.” Finn nods to the seven recruits in front of him. “Introduce yourselves?”  

One of them steps forward and salutes Poe. “Commander Dameron, sir. Pleased to meet you. We are the Freedom Squadron.”

“The— what?” Poe glances sideways to find Finn beaming giddily.

“Poe.” Finn presses a swift kiss to his cheek. “It’s working. There are twenty-six of them now, working for the Resistance. These seven just arrived this morning. They’re pilots, Poe! General Organa assigned them to me. Well, Snap’s supposed to do most of the flight-training— and you, if you’re up for it—but once they graduate, I’m going to lead them. I asked them what they wanted to call their squadron and they decided to name it Freedom.”

“You’re Stormtroopers.” Poe’s stomach is still flipping back and forth like a poorly stabilized oscillator.

“We _were_ Stormtroopers,” one of them corrects him, as fiercely as Finn always does when a Resistance fighter calls him that. “Now we are free. We have decided to fight for the Resistance.”

“What—how—”

Finn raises his brows at the line of straight backs. “Who wants to explain?” Finn’s coached all of the ex-Stormtroopers on Resistance interpersonal customs several times now, but he knows it’ll take a while for them to get acclimated.

“Commander Dameron, sir.” Another brave cadet steps forward. “The story of how Captain Finn escaped with you to freedom appeared on our comms one day, then vanished. It kept repeating, and we saw other flash-stories too, about Stormtroopers who defected, escaped. We—we started to talk, our division. We decided that we wanted to do the same. We therefore mutinied against our commanding officers while en route for a mission. Our target had been a Resistance outpost. Instead of attacking, we announced our peaceful intent, landed, and asked to be allowed to come here. When we arrived, we were accepted as Resistance cadets by General Organa.”

Poe can’t help smiling at the reverence with which the cadet pronounces her name. Clearly a woman of his own heart, this recruit. His hand closes tight around Finn’s waist. He’s still more than a little disconcerted to find a gaggle of ex-troopers right on his own landing bay, but it means that his lover’s plan is working. It’s working. “A team of comms techs and an ex-Stormtrooper take down the First Order from the inside, huh?”

Finn snorts. “Nerfherder. Not yet. But we’re getting there.”

Poe grins at the recruits’ carefully blank faces. “It’s ok. I hope Finn’s told you that you’re allowed to insult your commanding officers here. Just please don’t actually kill us. We’d be really disappointed in you.” He looks from face to face. “What are your names?”

They look to Finn. He looks back at them blandly, waiting for them to take the lead. One recruit steps forward and salutes. “Commander Dameron, sir—”

“Just Poe, please.”

The recruit gulps. “Poe.” He clears his throat. “We are going to look at a book of intergalactic names with Captain Finn tonight. To choose our own names. Sir.” He steps back into the line.

“Ok. That sounds good. Um.” Poe looks at Finn, still a little lost. “They’re Stormtroopers,” he mouths.

“Were,” Finn corrects him aloud, with a furious glare. “They’re not, now. They’re Resistance, same as me. Same as you.”

Poe flinches back. He’s sure Finn didn’t mean _same as you, who also fought for the First Order and killed Resistance fighters_ , Finn would never mean that, he wouldn’t, but it’s where Poe’s brain jumps to first all the same. Clearly the ex-troopers’ brains jump there as well.

“Commander Poe, sir.” Another steps forward. “We—uh—” She looks to her comrades for support. “Finn told us about what happened. With you. What they did.”

Poe nods, stiff. “Right. Yes. Um.”

She clasps her hands behind her back in formal parade rest, nervous. “Before we escaped, we were stationed on the star destroyer Obsession.”

Poe’s heartrate accelerates towards hyperdrive.

“We were TIE-fighter pilots. We were assigned a new division leader, someone who didn’t go back to the pilot bunks with us. We—we never saw your face, under the TIE life-support helmet. But we believe it must have been you. We flew with you.”

“Breathe, Poe. Breathe.” Finn’s voice is in his ear. Poe’s been turned away from the recruits, towards the rest of the base, supported only by Finn’s iron grip across his chest.

Poe can’t breathe. He opens his mouth, sucks for air, desperate. Closes his eyes, jumps into hyperspace—and out again, TIE fighters, oh Force oh Force—and into the clearing instead, quiet and safe and green. Gasps. Breathes. Breathes. TIE-fighters. Oh Force.  “You’re ok, Poe,” Finn murmurs. “You’re free. You’re safe. It’s over.”

Poe brings a hand up to Finn’s arm where it passes across his chest and nods, still dazed. He knows Finn means what he says. He also knows it’ll never be over. But these ex-troopers, ex-TIE-fighter pilots, new Resistance recruits— _We flew with you._ Killed with you. Bombed with you. Death and destruction and—and defendants at his six. _We flew with you._ These pilots may have kept him alive. Alive to kill Iolo, and Poe’s four recruits, and so many other Resistance fighters and civilians. Alive to return here, to life, to Finn, to fighting for peace.

Poe’s mind flashes for an instant to the cold lights of a star destroyer hallway, being shoved into a cramped alcove, beaten and shackled, suddenly staring into the warm dark eyes of a human being. Finn was a Stormtrooper, too. So was Poe. None of them had a choice.

_This is what Dr. Eila meant, isn’t it? Bad merging with good. Good merging with bad. Hope and despair and fury and love all in one lifetime._

_Kinda makes me dizzy._

Poe straightens out of Finn’s grasp and turns back to the cadets.

“I apologize, Commander, sir.” The recruit is staring at her feet. “I should not have said that. I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s ok,” Poe says softly. He looks at her for a long moment. Finally he takes a deep breath and steps forward to shake her hand. “It’s ok, buddy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

_I think?_

_No, it is. It really is._

Poe looks around the small group. “Eight people I’ve fought both with and against. It’s a real honor to stand here with you all.” He shoots an uneven grin at Finn. “Thanks for keeping me alive, guys. Finn would have been pretty upset if you hadn’t.” The cadets’ faces break into startled smiles as Poe moves down the line, shaking hands with each one.

He’s still breathing by the end of it, but now seems like a good time to sit down and take some more deep breaths until his heartrate slows to normal again. Poe nods to Finn, still dazed. “Good luck with these mutineers. I’ll be on the other side of the hangar working on BB-8. See you later?”

“Of course.” Finn snags Poe’s arm as he leaves and pulls him in. “You ok?” His voice is soft in Poe’s ear.

“I will be.” Poe presses a kiss to Finn’s cheek before he pulls away, heading off towards the pile of BB-8’s innards.

And yeah, his hands might possibly still be shaking a little. But they’ll stop, eventually.

 _I’m an ex-Stormtrooper._ Poe’s head spins around the thought, disoriented. _I don’t even know who to fight against and who to welcome in anymore. I could have shot them down from Black One, all of them. I could have been one of them, taken from birth and given a number instead of a name._

_Oh, Force._

_What else can I do but say hello?_

 

 

Two days later, Poe’s finally fitted all of the inner workings back together. Welded the exterior plates into a smooth sphere. Charged the battery. Pored over every line of code until he’s sure it checks out. He hasn’t repainted yet— he’ll let BB-8 choose the color, like last time. And then he’ll paint a few matching decals on the gorgeous new _Black One,_ still drying in the sun from their painting party last night.

Poe slides the core processor back into its impervium sheath. Rey leans closer. “A protective casing for the processor? That’s not common, for droids. Is that standard for BB-units?”

Poe flashes her a cheeky grin. “Nope. Saved his life, though.”

“You know, Poe, if you took care of yourself as well as you took care of this little guy…” Jess’ shadow looms over them.

“... then we’d never have crashed on Jakku, which means Finn would never have found your ladylove, which means you’d still be in and out of beds—”

Jess swats him. Poe ducks. Ignoring her continued banter, he takes another moment to check that everything is in place.

“Ready?” They hush. Poe slides the battery in, closes the panel, latches it tightly shut, and turns BB-8 on.

For a single, suspended, moment, everything is silent.

[POE CAPTURED BY FIRST ORDER ASSHOLES POE CAPTURED POE CAPTURED! ALERT ALERT SEND HELP SEND—]

“BB-8! BB! Stop it! He’s ok! He’s right here, can’t you see? He’s ok.”

BB-8’s head swivels, tilts, and locates Poe—flung back against the duracrete, hand to his chest, panting. “ _Fuck_ ,” Poe mutters, cautiously sitting up again. He rubs his elbow where he bashed it against the hangar floor in his shock and tries to get his pulse to stop hammering. “BB-8! Buddy. You’re ok?” When Poe reaches out to the little astro, BB-8 rocks forward into his hand to greet him.

[POE OK?]

“Yeah, BB. Yeah. I’m ok. Are you?”

BB-8 spins in a gleeful circle and tries out the arc welder, holoprojector, methane torch.  [ALL CIRCUITS IN WORKING ORDER EVERYTHING IS GOOD THANK YOU POE.] His head tilts up to Rey, Jess, back to Poe again. [FIRST ORDER ASSHOLES CAPTURED POE. WHAT HAPPENED?]

“You saw it happen?” Jess asks. In response, BB-8 plays the last few minutes of his photoreception through the projector. There’s _Black One_ from BB-8’s vantage point behind the cockpit, spinning through space, half its systems shot away.

Poe flinches away from the sight, sick. He can’t watch this. He can’t look away. He wraps his arms tightly around his body, eyes frozen on the rapidly shifting blue lines. There’s _Black One_ again, caught by the _Obsession’s_ tractor beam as the star destroyer looms out of hyperspace. In the vast hangar, cockpit being bashed in by an impatient Stormtrooper. There’s— _holy shit, that’s his own body_ being stunned and dragged from the cockpit by another pair of troopers. Poe drags a harsh breath through his nose, trying not to throw up.

Poe jerks in shock as a pair of arms grabs him in real  life—oh, it’s just Finn, Snap and his recruits following at a run. He leans back against his lover, trembling.

Holo-Poe’s dragged off, shackled and unconscious, into the bowels of the star destroyer. A few moments later, a trooper returns and locks Poe’s dogtags into a compartment in Black One. BB-8’s shrill screams echo across the hangar as the ship is carefully angled towards Pelagros’ surface and sent out into space to hurtle towards its doom. The holo shimmers with the heat of atmo, blurs with their insane speed, and cuts out with one final, horrible smash.

 

 

After a holovid like that, it’s pretty clear that intoxicants are necessary. Snap pulls a flask of Akivan moonshine from its customary place in his hangar locker and shares it around their shell-shocked circle.

“Here’s to BB-8,” Rey toasts at last. “A true survivor and a loyal friend. We’re glad to have you back among us.”

BB-8 nods regally as they pass the flask around again. Jess raises it next. “Here’s to Rey’s Jedi powers, without which we never could have gotten off that fucker of a star destroyer in one piece.”

“Here’s to Iolo.” Karé’s eyes no longer burn when they land on Poe. The grief that still shadows her is not only for the friend who did not return.

Snap lays a hand on her shoulder as the flask makes another round of the circle. She takes a deep breath, nods at him. He swallows a mouthful of moonshine and raises his arm towards the sleek black hull above them.

“Here’s to the new _Black One_. T-85, you lucky bastard. Still can’t believe you opted to fix your droid before your ship.”

Poe grins at BB-8. “Priorities, Snap.”

[DAMN STRAIGHT.] Poe laughs and pats BB-8’s curving hull.

“Here’s to Poe, back among us again.” The low sunlight glints off the strong planes of Finn’s face. He smiles at Poe before leaning in for a quick kiss.

“No fair toasting your boyfriend.”

“Who else am I going to toast, Snap? Not your hairy face, that’s for sure.”

Poe ducks the wrench Snap throws at Finn, then raises the flask towards their circle. “Here’s to the most loyal friends a pilot could ever ask for.” As he looks from face to face, throat tight, his eyes catch on the newcomers on the other side of their circle—some sitting stiffly upright, others deliberately lounging to match the rest of the Resistance fighters. Seven new comrades who took a flying leap towards the uncertainty of free choice.

“And here’s to the Freedom Squadron.” Poe raises the flask to the newest Resistance pilots, takes a fiery sip of the moonshine, and leans back on his elbows, letting the sun’s late-afternoon warmth sink into his body. “There’s hope for us yet.”

 

 

Poe flings her door open, panting. “I see Finn.” he says. “Not his scar. Not his back. Not even both, at once. Just—Finn.”

Dr. Eila’s entire face lights up when she smiles.

 

 

Poe runs with Finn’s recruits for as long as he can before finally dropping out to the side, panting. His body is starting to become his own again, but it’ll be a while longer before he’s fully back to fighting condition. He lounges against the railing of the training yards, admiring the view as his lover runs shirtless around the track. Finn’s yelling at his squadron to _run faster, come on, keep it up, get moving, might save your lives some day!_

It’s true, Poe knows. A little bit faster and he may have been able to take off on Jakku, map and droid safely with him, before the Stormtroopers shot out his engines. He’d never have met Finn, though. Or Rey. Or this brave team of ex-TIE-fighter pilots, working hard to learn the ropes of their new home in the Resistance.

Poe presses his hands together to feel the new set of T-85 calluses roughening his fingertips. The bandages are off now, leaving behind only a faint map of contours and divots. He’s pretty sure his throat still hurts from the way he screamed when he realized what they were doing to him. Or maybe it’s not in his throat, but his mind? Either way, it still hurts. It might always hurt. Things that don’t hurt: breathing. Training. Laughing. Flying. Kissing. Living.

Poe closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and lets the bright sunlight wash over him. Finn’s right, he might be part plant now. Strange how he never really noticed the sunshine before being deprived of it for so long. Now, some days, it seems like that’s the only thing he really needs. Well—that, and BB-8, and _Black One_ , and his squadron, and his friends, and his comrades, and his General. A clean path through hyperspace, stars blurring past his cockpit. And Finn.

 _At the end of the day,_ Poe thinks, _it comes down to this: when your heart stops, breathe until it starts again. When your heart sinks, look up into the sun until it rises. And when your heart finds what it needs, hold on as tightly as you can._

Poe runs a finger along the smooth curves of the pair of rings in his pocket, rests his eyes on the powerful lines of Finn’s body, and plans his next move.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I found I needed? Fanfiction. And AO3. And all of you amazing human beings. Thank you _so_ much for coming along for the ride on this series and for all of your incredible comments. I hope you enjoyed this series. If it meant to you even the tiniest fraction of what it means to me, I will be very, _very_ glad.
> 
> If you’ve got an idea you’d like to see, or are interested in collaborating/co-writing/plot-doctoring/beta-reading/just general chatting, let me know! What you get in return: more fics, better fics, posted-sooner fics, and my eternal, undying gratitude. (Also, shameless plug: if you want to be sure to see the fic(s) when I finally post something, subscribe to my profile...) My next WIP is currently edging closer to 90k every day, so...current estimated posting date hovers around June.
> 
>  In other news:  
>     •    A note on droid gender politics: I love, love, LOVE Oscar Isaac's support for gender-neutral droids. However, both Poe and Rey clearly refer to BB-8 with male pronouns during the movie. So after some deliberation, I decided to go with canon. My personal headcanon is that Poe asked BB-8 what gender pronouns to use and BB-8 asked to be called he/him. Because Poe, as a true space gentleman, would absolutely ask first. And BB-8 would sass anyone (Rey included) who dared use the wrong pronoun.  
>     •    Shout-out to the amazing Tarasque for the reverse L'ullo stand ^_^  
>     •    While searching for a translation for this epigraph, I discovered that the version I have stared at my entire life is not actually a standard translation. Please excuse my nostalgia in continuing to use it; it is the most beautiful version to my ears.  
>   
> Love. You. All.


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